The Postbellum Sun
by fulsiastrum
Summary: AU. In the late 1870s, a gang of the Old West targets the small town of McKinley; stealing their cattle, killing the sheriff, and leaving behind one of their own – an outlaw girl named Quinn Fabray. Her fate is now in the hands of the late sheriff's daughter, Rachel Berry. A story of the impending dawn. And angels.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee, just having fun with this awesome ensemble.

**A/N: **This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction of any sort, but I always wondered what Glee would be like as a western ever since I rewatched "The Rhodes Not Taken" episode with the cowboy number. I was also inspired by "The Magnificent Seven" (the film, not the gymnasts- though they're quite inspiring as well =), along with a certain Rachel Berry quote from the "Vitamin D" episode. This is the romantic era of the long drive and the cowboy. I tried to make it historically accurate, but if I get something wrong, I'm truly sorry.

* * *

**Prologue – The Difference between Angels and Outlaws**

...

It was high noon on top of the desert cliff when Rachel Berry defied gravity and became the sun.

It wasn't always that way, however.

When Rachel Berry was 8, she used to think that angels hovered around up above helping to hold the sun in the sky, and listened in during those afternoons when her father would sit with her outside on the porch of the town saloon. He would strum his old parlor guitar while flashing that proud smile of his as she belted out one of the songs she'd learned from the cattle hands. Proud because she sang much better than the cattle hands – or anyone else in town for that matter, and so he likened her voice to the angels.

Her voice would waver though whenever she'd ask him to stay every time the John James Gang that rustled cattle in Doña Ana decided to stop by northeast of El Paso to pay their little town a visit. He would always say, "It's the sheriff's duty, Darlin'," before putting on a six-pointed gold star on his chest and heading out towards the sound of gunfire. But he would always come back and tell her, "I love you, Rachel. Now sing me a song so we can thank the angels who kept me safe this time." So she continued singing and everything was sunshine.

One night, while they were sitting on the porch eating biscuits and she was taking sips from her father's coffee, she asked why he always wore the gold star. Her father smiled and pointed to the sky, telling her that whenever the good people on the trail heading west would get lost without a compass, the stars guided them. And that even the sun does the same during the day.

"Maybe with enough help, we can stop this John James Gang and get meat back on our tables," her father continued.

"Daddy, I don't even like meat! I just want you safe," she cried.

He chuckled as he hugged her close and said, "I know you want things to change, Darlin'. But you have to understand that sometimes it requires sacrifices."

"But why does it have to be you that makes those sacrifices?" she asked, still confused.

"Because change starts with yourself, you know," he replied.

They sat in silence as she thought about his words. She figured she couldn't change her father's mind, but at least they had the angels and stars and each other. That was enough.

She then joked, "Why do you have to pin the star on your chest, Daddy? You can just keep it in your pocket."

Her father smiled and said, "It's on our left chest so it guides our hearts too."

When Rachel Berry was 18, the skies were gray. The outlaws came that day, and she learned that they didn't wear stars because they don't have hearts, as she hid inside her father's office while the guns fired and the women screamed so loud outside, you couldn't hear the angels. Her father didn't come back.


	2. A Study in Eyes

**Chapter 1 – A Study in Eyes**

...

The apologies and the words "_hero"_ and "_killed John James"_ and "_got one of them"_ passed through her as if she had been the one to die and become a ghost. Her senses had gone numb. And all they gave her to deal with it was his stupid gold star.

The day after the burial, she found herself sitting in her father's oak chair in the sheriff's office, staring at the wooden desk. She slowly reached out to grasp the tin badge, picking it up. She turned her hand to see a blurred reflection of herself, doubly so when tears began to well in her eyes. It hurt. She thought the star would protect him. She thought that beautiful things could last forever.

But it didn't. They didn't. And she finally realized it was naïve to think that. So she took a deep breath before hurling the badge forcefully across the room where it flung into one of the two jail cells, hitting the wall and then clattering onto the floor. She didn't even notice when the blonde-haired girl that was inside the cell picked up the badge and placed it in her pocket.

She slumped back in the chair, overwhelmed by the disappearance of childhood innocence and having to look alone into a place unknown to her youth. She couldn't go outside for air because she'd have to face the night sky. She couldn't get coffee because she didn't have the only person she wanted to share it with, _and why would she want to stay awake for anything anymore_? And when she couldn't take the weight in her chest any longer, she finally let herself breathe tears until she fell asleep on the desk.

...

The boys came in early the following morning. That's when she realized there was someone occupying one of the cells. There was the sound of metal being unhinged and punches being thrown, and then a thud – but not a single cry. As they put their wide-brimmed Stetsons back on their heads, tipping them at her as they exited, one stopped in front of the desk.

"You shouldn't spend the whole day in here, Miss Berry," he said carefully, trying to gauge her reaction.

She looked up at him with swollen eyes and forced a tiny smile. "We're friends, Noah. You're free to call me Rachel."

"I might get the notion to if you stopped calling me Noah."

She didn't force the smile this time, and she was thankful for him.

Noah had a reputation for being tough and someone you couldn't control most times. He had lost his family after his tribe was forced off their land with guns in order to construct that new railroad, and he'd been left to wander; stealing food until they caught him outside of town. He hated everything about the railroad business and authority ever since. He was only half Apache but kept his hair in a short mohawk, in a statement of perpetual grief. To everyone else, he kept distant and preferred to be called Puck.

But the sheriff was different. The sheriff took him in instead of punishing him, and he never forgot that. So he let the sheriff's daughter call him by the name his own father gave him – a name that had made him feel like an outsider before with his own people. Now it felt a little bit like the home he never really had. And he would never show it, but Rachel knew he loved that name. There were only a few people he showed a softer side to that you could count them on one hand, and Rachel was his best friend.

She noticed that his head was shaved today though, and he noticed her expression change.

"I'm sorry we couldn't save him."

She couldn't take the sudden ache he let out in his voice. He missed him too. So she stood up and walked towards the cell that had been opened earlier. She finally saw her.

Sitting against the far wall of the cell was a girl that looked just as young as them. Her long dirty blonde hair was tangled, with strands sticking to the side of her face and mixed with smears of blood. Her cheek was bruised and the blood outside of her nose had dried. Her blouse was wrinkled, her cotton vest was missing a button, and her pants were muddied and worn. Her head rested on the wall and her eyes remained closed. Rachel felt no sympathy.

"Who is she?"

Puck shrugged. "Won't talk to us. We caught her before the rest of the gang escaped after we killed John James."

"She should be hanged," she said flatly.

"She should. But your father said not to."

She turned to him, her eyes mixed with surprise and confusion.

"You know how he was with second chances. I'm just respecting his last wishes. Doesn't mean we have to like it though," he answered, wiping the blood he still had on his knuckles.

...

The next morning, she finally decided to step outside as the boys went in to try to get some information out of the girl. She used to love being out in the sun because when it shined down on her she felt like one of the stars, singing on a big stage, like her father used to tell her she could be. But now the sun glared at her eyes and it was painful, so she sat in the shaded area on the porch and scanned down the main road.

The town was oddly quiet and somber, with broken tables still out on the side of the saloon. It felt like her at that moment. She kept her gaze on the building across from her but couldn't bring herself to imagine a man and his daughter sitting on its porch, just singing together a few days ago. That was when she knew that she didn't want to lose the memory of her father, of happier days. And she didn't want to be trapped in this mess any longer. It was time to wake up.

She walked back inside to the see the final punch across the girl's jaw that sent her sideways into the wall, falling into a heap on the floor.

"What are you boys doing?" she broke in. Puck and the two others turned to face her.

"To find out where they took the cattle. Town's got no money. We need the cattle back," Puck stated.

"Yeah, but this bitch ain't tellin' us nothin'!" another boy spat.

"I say we just kill her if she ain't gonna be useful," the third said. Puck agreed with the others this time.

She then said, "I thought we were respecting my father's wishes?"

Puck eyed her at that and, after a beat, "Fine. We'll leave you to figure it out then until the mayor decides to appoint a new deputy."

They stalked off with Puck saying, "Best be careful, Miss Berry."

...

She sat and stared through the steel bars at the blonde who lay motionless across from her, watching the steady rise and fall of the girl's back; afraid to enter because of the decision she had yet to make.

She hated everything this girl represented and could end it right there for what the outlaws did to her father. It was all up to her. But still this was only _just_ a girl, who was obviously incapacitated, _and what would that do for her father's memory?_ So Rachel took a chance because of that fact and hoped her Daddy was up there watching with his new wings in case she was wrong.

The girl stirred when she felt something painful on her left cheek. She then remembered the hook to her jaw before everything went black. She heard movement. And when she felt something come in contact with her face again, she used her remaining strength to lash her arm out, rolling from her side… Only to have her wrist stopped.

Rachel looked down at the wrist she was holding and saw her father's badge gripped in its hand, the pointed ends facing her neck. Her eyes widened before coming to a deadlock with another pair.

They were green like the spring mountaintops outside town that touched the sky and mixed with flecks of gold that only glistened with further clarity from the light reflecting off of the metal in her hand. And they glared at her like the sun did earlier. But this time Rachel didn't duck in the shade. Neither of them moved. Just two colors, hazel and brown, scattering light for the first time, for a moment trying to understand what they were doing within the complexities of a simple jail cell.

Rachel looked back at the badge and tried to pry it slowly out of the girl's hand. The girl jerked back and tried to get up, but winced in pain. Rachel released her grip on the wrist and held the sides of the girl's arms to calm her down.

"Please don't fight me," she breathed.

They were both sitting on the floor now with hazel eyes wide at Rachel and the girl's back stiff against the wall.

"They're just my hands. See? They're just holding you steady. I… I'm trying to do something different. For once."

After a few hesitant seconds, the girl relaxed and Rachel picked up the washcloth once more to dab the remaining blood off of her face.

That night, Rachel was able to recall a man who told her about the golden edges of stars as she sat on the porch and stared up at the sky, thinking about how the girl's eyes had golden edges in them too.

...

"You figured out yet what you're going to do with that prisoner of yours?" Puck asked one day.

After a while, Rachel answered, "I reckon she has a right to a trial."

He gaped at her, then snorted while saying, "Well, I don't think that's going to work. She has no witnesses! And besides, no attorney or anybody's going to come by McKinley anytime soon, seeing as how we've got nothing to offer right now."

"Well then, I don't know what to do with her."

"We have to get rid of her! The James Boys might come back, and nobody wants the job of being sheriff to handle that again."

"So you want to just.. _kill her?_" she enunciated.

"I thought you said she should be hanged."

Rachel remembered, and knew she wasn't making sense when she replied, "Noah, we don't know what she's done. But she didn't hurt me when she had the chance."

When Rachel walked back inside, she saw the blonde sitting on the cell bench and eating the last of the bacon Rachel had cooked up, dipping biscuits in the grease. The girl looked up at her once and then went back to finish her food.

For the first time, Rachel noticed that the girl was actually quite beautiful. Without the blood, the blonde's face was a fair white – currently bruised, but with nice high cheekbones and a well-defined chin. Her hair was golden and fell in natural curls below her shoulders. She could not picture her as a gunslinger.

"Are you one of them? One of James' Gang?"

Silence. Just like all the other days. The girl just put her plate down and stared at Rachel with a guarded look. Rachel tried again.

"To tell you the truth, I didn't think you were one of them. An outlaw. Frankly because – and don't take this the wrong way – you seem more of the type that would belong to one of them Bees than aiming rifles or Colts at innocent folk."

The girl only looked down at her plate.

Rachel continued, "But then, I guess you were tough enough not to cry at the punches you took. So I don't know what to make of you – you could be anything really. And I don't even know your name."

The girl then remained still. Rachel frowned and gave up. She stood up and turned towards the door when an object flew past, just missing her head and freezing her in place.

There, lodged into the wood of the wall in front of her was the sheriff's badge. A new voice spoke.

"It's Quinn Fabray. And maybe I was one. But they won't be coming back for me, so you can have your toy back."

She turned and met hazel eyes that turned gold in the light.


	3. To Tomorrows

**Chapter 2 – To Tomorrows**

...

"You WHAT?!" Puck gasped.

"I let her go," Rachel repeated.

Puck looked completely horrified as he stared at the empty jail cell, opening and closing his mouth several times before finding his voice, "You let an outlaw, _who helped ruin this town_, wander around!? Why?"

"So I can let go too," she replied quietly.

"What are you going on about?" he huffed.

"…Daddy wouldn't have wanted her hanged, Noah. And all I've wanted these past few days was to have Daddy back here and telling me that everything is going to be better, and then asking me if I wanted to sing with him while he plays the guitar, and me… believing I could get out of this town and be anything. But this time he didn't come back like he said he would and I hate him for never listening to me when I asked him to stay! I hate him for leaving me. But I also don't want to forget him, Noah," she rambled, her voice breaking as tears began to course down her cheeks.

Puck looked at her sympathetically and sighed, saying, "And you think believing in those things he used to is going to make things better?"

She looked at him helplessly, "Yes? …I don't know. All I know is that… It's up to me now if I want things to change. I have to be the one to come back. So I let her go."

He finally hugged her, but added, "What if she brings whatever's left of James' Gang back here?"

"Then I'll shoot her myself," Rachel convicted. "I already gave her a second chance."

Puck laughed, "You can't shoot for shit."

This caused Rachel, through drying tears, to also break out into a laugh – the first since the outlaws came. She could count on Puck. It already started to sound like a better day ahead.

...

The tiny brown-haired girl with the big brown eyes confused Quinn. Sure, she seemed to be in some sort of depression, but Quinn never figured her for a crazy person. So imagine her surprise when this Rachel Berry left the cell door open one night after bringing in her dinner plate – and even placed a Colt revolver in a holster on the desk when she knew Quinn was looking at her, before walking outside.

After staring at the open door expecting a surprise consisting of fists and bruises to arrive, nothing happened, and so she decided to eat. After putting her plate aside, she waited for what seemed like forever for something to change that would tell her she was actually dreaming all of it up.

But then she realized that was the change. She _wasn't_ dreaming.

So she stood and took her first step outside of her prison. She picked up the revolver and opened the cylinder to see that it was fully-loaded, save for one chamber that had a rolled up $5 bill inside. _What is wrong with this girl._ She strapped the holster onto her belt, fixed her black button-down shirt, and grabbed a matching black felt Stetson before stepping outside.

Under the night sky was the brunette, sitting on the porch still eating, with her wavy brown locks blowing against her dress. Serene and not crazy-like. Seemingly sensing her, brown eyes turned to look back and met hers. They were calm as well. _Definitely not the eyes of a batshit lunatic._ She was about to speak when the brunette stood up and started in towards the door.

"I'm letting you go. I want you people to leave McKinley alone, so please don't come back. Nothing good happens in this town, so you best be on your way before anybody sees you. I'm quite sure you can handle yourself, Quinn Fabray."

And with that, Rachel stepped inside. Quinn was free for the first time in her life.

And it was precisely that reason why Quinn still found herself on the outskirts of town the next day. She could go anywhere she liked but she didn't have anywhere to go. Sure, she was part of John James' Gang, but John James himself was dead; meaning the rest were probably scattered to who knows where. And none of them would have ever cared to look for her now. Hell, they didn't even care that she had been imprisoned.

Her mind returned to the cell where she sucked in the sting of the cloth that cleaned her face because someone was taking care of her wounds. Hands held her for the first time instead of hitting her. She had been running all of her life as an outlaw, taking lives and hurting others because it was all she ever knew how to be. But this crazy brunette went from wanting to hang her one day to telling her "I don't know what to make of you – _you could be anything."_

She could be… _And she sure as hell can handle it._

That was when Quinn Fabray realized that there was nothing wrong with Rachel Berry. _She was absolutely right_.

...

Quinn was still hanging by a stable on a farm just outside of McKinley when one of the boys that used to beat her up in the cell slumped off the horse that just came galloping back. A couple of ranch hands ran to his aid, the rest looking alarmed.

"We… found some of the cattle," he gasped. He was bleeding out from his abdomen.

"Where?" a stocky older man commanded.

"Just north of town… They got Karofsky... And guns," he continued as he clutched his side.

"I'll get the mayor!" someone shouted, taking off while a couple of others took the boy inside.

"He won't be able to get help here in time," the same man stated roughly to the rest. He looked around and said, "If we're even thinking of getting the cattle back, it needs to be now! Who's willing to go?"

They remembered the James' Gang raid that took half their men and remained silent.

"I'll do it."

Quinn walked out from the side of the stable and they all looked at her questioningly.

"And who are you, Miss..? Never seen you around these parts," the older man motioned, scrutinizing her.

"Someone looking for a new direction in life," she replied.

"Well if you manage to get my cattle back, I'm sure I can find you something."

Quinn tipped her hat at him and went to mount one of the horses as the rest silently wished her well.

"Oh hell. Let me borrow that carbine," a brown-skinned woman spoke out.

She grabbed a rifle from one of the ranch hands – then a pistol for good measure, and climbed up on another horse before reining it in to stand next to the blonde. Quinn gave her a nod.

"Santana, what do you think you're doing? Those horses better come back alive!" yelled the stocky man.

But the girls had already taken off, scattering dust. The man turned to see Puck running towards him.

"That was Quinn Fabray, the outlaw we had locked up! You let her get out there on a horse to get the cattle she helped them steal, stolen back?" Puck said incredulously.

_OH SHIT_. _Guess I ain't seeing those horses back either_, he thought.

...

"Never had a partner before," Quinn said as the two galloped north.

"Never knew anyone _loco_ enough to ride out on a suicide mission by themselves. You got balls, sunshine," the black-haired girl retorted.

"Ha, so do you it seems."

"Don't push your luck. I just need me some action."

"You need to prove yourself or something?"

"Something like that. The name's Santana Lopez."

"…Quinn Fabray."

Santana suddenly pulled on the reins, swerving around to a stop.

"The outlaw!?" she gaped.

"Is that a problem?" Quinn turned her horse around.

"Well, shit. How do I know you're not gonna put one in my head?" the girl called out, her finger moving to the rifle's trigger.

"Let's just say the odds are better with you alive," the blonde calmly replied, "You're not the only one needing to prove something."

After a few moments, the Latina moved her hand from her rifle and took out the pistol from her holster instead. Quinn watched her as she checked the chambers, locked it – then tossed it over to the blonde, who caught it with an apprehended smirk.

"Two guns are always better than one, Fabray," the Latina quipped as she rode past.

Quinn grinned as she caught up, "I'm starting to like you, Lopez."

Santana snorted and said, "Thanks, but I already got a girl."

"You're… Lebanese?" Quinn asked in realization.

"No, I'm Hispanic. What in the hell is that?"

"Saw it somewhere. Couldn't read, but it sounded like that."

Santana shook her head in amusement, "I'll be damned, Fabray. How'd you ever find your way around without being able to read a damn map?"

Quinn shrugged, "Always just followed the stars, I guess."

...

Something rumbled in the distance and the stocky man could feel the earth beneath the setting sun and his boots quiver. His ranch hands felt it too as they stopped and looked north.

There, over the distant hill, was a sight for sore eyes. A wave of cattle were ambling down towards them, their hooves thundering on hungry land and creating a swirl of dust. Bounding through the settling mist were four horses; two with riders' silhouettes. The hands hurriedly opened the corral gate as they counted in 127 heads.

"Sorry, we lost a few in the crossfire. Thought maybe these extra horses could make up for 'em," panted Santana proudly as she swung off her horse and walked towards him.

He looked over at the blonde who was handing over the new horses to one of the wranglers. Santana followed his gaze.

"Who would've thought an outlaw, huh? Girl went all McKinley hills on those cattle rustlers!" she added.

The noise had brought several of the townspeople over, and there was a bustle of energy as they mulled over the new arrivals. A brown-skinned gentleman in a tweed coat and bowler hat walked towards the big group that had formed around the two girls.

"Mayor Figgins! We got the cattle back!" someone yelled out, encouraging more whoops.

"Silence, people, silence," he motioned with his arms. He continued, "First, an announcement."

He lifted up a wanted poster of a woman with Quinn's cheekbones. The crowd quieted down and Santana looked to Quinn silently.

"This woman is wanted for aiding and abetting in loss of property and life in McKinley-"

"Mayor Figgins! This woman just helped _save_ our cattle, and my ass!" Santana boldly interrupted.

Figgins held up a hand, "BUT, as we still have not appointed a new sheriff to handle these proceedings..."

He turned to Quinn and ripped the poster in half.

"I believe that aiding and abetting in the return of said property and _this life_-" gesturing at Santana, "can, for the time being, absolve you from the hangman's noose. However, there will be zero tolerance for any crimes of this nature for future reference!"

With that, he walked off as cheers once again erupted and Quinn found herself in the midst of strangers who were now patting her back. She noticed a little girl of about 8 that reminded her of herself as a child, looking up at her admiringly from the crowd. _I could be different_, she thought. Then she caught a familiar face glaring at her from a distance.

"Guess you can't shoot her now, Miss Berry," Puck said as they stood on the road, watching the commotion.

"Doesn't mean I can't learn how," Rachel replied, glaring away. Maybe she could glare away Quinn Fabray.

_Nope. _The blonde was smiling at the crowd. Rachel had never seen her smile. Her teeth were perfect and white and shiny, like garments of glistening snow. It was irritating… and quite lovely actually. _Why is she still here?_

The stocky man walked up to Quinn and offered his hand.

"Well, what do you say, Miss Fabray? I could use another cattle hand around here, especially one with your skills," he said.

"You trusting an outlaw, Sir?" Quinn asked from under her hat after some hesitation.

"An outlaw? You're the unlikely hero of McKinley, Fabray!" Santana grinned as she approached them.

"No. I'm asking you to trust a man who's seen his share of surprises in life be shocked to shit of what you did today. The name's Burt Hummel. I own what's left of the cattle business in this town, and I need people to drive these bovines down to El Paso when the time comes. Hell, we haven't been able to have a drive in half a year! You think you can figure out how to change that, Quinn Fabray?"

Quinn looked back up on the road. The brunette had already left.

She didn't know if Rachel Berry knew that she had been right, and Quinn wanted her to believe it too. And also because Quinn Fabray didn't know how to say those two words yet, as she had never been grateful for anything. But today everything turned upside down, all because of one girl who threw stars at her.

So she shook Mr. Hummel's hand and said, "I'll start tomorrow."


	4. The Reason For Hands

**A/N: **Thank you for the follows and reviews! It was a very pleasant surprise. I hope you enjoy the update. =)

* * *

**Chapter 3 – The Reason For Hands**

...

"So the problem is there aren't enough hands that actually know how to drive cattle?" Quinn asked, leaned over on crossed arms atop the wooden fence at the Hummel ranch, surveying the herd.

"Yeap. Most of the few folk left here only know how to work with 'em in the pens. I do, of course, but damn old Hummel wouldn't believe me until yesterday," Santana smirked as she set her gloves on for the day.

"Why doesn't he teach anyone?"

"Damn fart's too old. And look around, Q. There ain't nobody to teach. The ones that can handle a horse are too chickenshit to deal with the open road – what, with them outlaws and natives running loose. And everyone else left for the rail yard down at El Paso. Pays better, I heard."

Quinn noticed a thin boy with thick brown hair parted to one side, dressed well in a crisp white shirt underneath a black buttoned vest, but wearing wide lips in a frown. He stormed out from the stables spinning a revolver in his fingers as he started off towards the shooting range.

"What about him?" Quinn pointed with her chin as she watched him take out canned targets, never wavering in focus.

"Kurt Hummel? I don't think so. Shame, he can actually hold a gun without shitting himself, but he'd rather sniff a book than get his underpants dirty taking over his father's business. It's like smacking sacks of flour at baby chickens with him and old Hummel," the Latina quirked. She then added, "Anyway, Pretty Pony's been looking to leave town. For school, or something. Everybody wants to be leaving McKinley..."

"So is there anybody we _can_ teach?" Quinn tried optimistically as she strode into the pen.

Santana smiled knowingly, "Oh I know a few people good with their hands."

...

The lithe blonde dancer finished their number with a palm splayed out and resting on the rear of another, shorter, Asian dancer. Both flashed smiles onstage as the evening saloon crowd applauded.

"Santana, I don't think this is what I meant when we were talking about h—"

Quinn stopped as the same blonde dancer strutted over to their table and straddled herself onto the Latina's lap.

"Q, this is Brittany S. Pierce. Quick as a fox, dancer extraordinaire, and everything that's good in this miserable, stinking world," beamed Santana.

"I'm actually a ninja. And I tame unicorns," Brittany hushed to Quinn.

Quinn lifted an eyebrow at Santana, "We don't have any unicorns. Just cows."

Santana flashed her a steely glare before stating, "She's good with a lasso."

Quinn sighed, "Anybody else?"

"I want to learn how to herd cattle too!" piped a young voice.

Quinn turned to see a little girl with green eyes and blonde hair standing next to their table. It was the same little girl she saw among the crowd at the ranch the other day.

"Are you old enough to be here?" Quinn awkwardly smiled, recognizing her.

"No, she's not," said the bartender who appeared behind the little girl with hands on his hips. His hair was curly and much too shiny for evening purposes.

"Mr. Schuester, I just wanted to say howdy to Miss Fabray. She's the bravest person I ever met!" the little girl said cutely.

Quinn had to chuckle at the irony. Deep down she began to believe that an outlaw led a life of cowardice; not being brave enough to see through a proper hard day's work, never knowing what it might bring, and hiding behind the power of a gun instead. She regretted a lot of things recently, and it was only yesterday that she was beginning to make amends with herself.

"Lily! You should be home by now," scolded Rachel, who had just entered the saloon with Puck trailing and carrying a guitar, but her eyes were focused once again on Quinn. Quinn noticed her in a corset dress with hair swept up in a messy updo and curls brushing against her neck. _This is different. She's actually… kind of pretty._

Puck set the guitar down and held out his arm, "C'mon Lily, I'll take ya home."

The little girl pouted as she was led away, but turned back one last time to wave at Quinn. Rachel saw the exchange and looked at Quinn sourly.

"I'll get the stage ready for you, Miss Berry," greeted Mr. Schuester before leaving the table.

Rachel didn't follow him. Instead, she abruptly pulled out the chair next to Quinn and sat down. Santana and Brittany looked at the two with caution.

"What are you still doing here?" spoke Rachel as she broke their silent stare-down.

"What are you doing inside a saloon dressed like that?" Quinn asked back.

"I asked you first."

Quinn saw fear in those brown eyes. It reminded her of her own that night in the jail.

"…I'm trying to do something different. For once," she quietly replied.

"That doesn't change the fact that you live on the wrong side of the gun," Rachel said with a quiver in her voice, because she remembered her own words. But the uncertainty in it was due to the fact that she didn't yet believe anyone could take a turnaround that fast. She could still hear shots firing in her head, as if she was still hiding in that office.

"Look. I'm sorry about what happened to your f—"

"Don't."

Rachel then took off as quickly as she appeared.

"She does that," Mr. Schuester reassured a confused Quinn as he came to collect the glasses, "Always was a bit dramatic if she didn't get her way as a young'un. I was looking forward to hearing her sing tonight though."

Brittany reassured him, "She'll come around, Mr. Schue. She just needs a good reason to sing again."

...

Brittany was a natural. She didn't have as much experience on a horse as the other two girls, but she learned quickly, maneuvering the mare she was on as if it was an extension of one of her flexible limbs. Her aim with a lasso helped round up the random cattle that would run loose from the points of the herd that Quinn or Santana couldn't cover. _Maybe unicorns are real._

Quinn found Brittany's agility and strength in learning and on the job a pleasant surprise, considering her very light and whimsy demeanor. It was as if first impressions were always a test to see if one cared enough to see underneath the skin. Or that there were many sides to one thing and you just had to choose which one to face at a certain moment.

She finally herded in the last of the pack for the day as Santana and Brittany closed the gate. After returning her horse to the stables, she grabbed some water and joined the couple who were resting against the corral.

"I feel like pulling that stunt the other day didn't do anything to help move things along around here," Santana griped wearily, resting her head on Brittany's shoulder. It was a hot day and she was tired as hell.

"What do you mean?" Quinn asked, equally tired.

Santana made an exasperated motion to the expanse of the ranch, "No one else gives a damn when we're working out there, Q! It's like we're a plague or the Unholy Trinity or something. We're not the only ones with hands! It was a good thing we had Britt to help out today or we would've had to spend the rest of it looking for goddamn lost cows."

Brittany smiled back at her girlfriend and tied her pinky finger to the Latina's.

Quinn looked around at the others walking about the Hummel land. She remembered some of them cheering for her when they brought the cattle back. Now they barely acknowledged her existence and seemed to stay away from them.

"…They don't trust me. I'm still that outlaw girl," Quinn noted. _What if people never end up caring about what's on the other side?_

"Don't say that, Quinn," Brittany chirped, "People will trust you. I mean, San trusts you, and she barely trusts me with cats because she thinks I'll turn them into sexy stars."

Quinn sighed with a tip of her hat and started towards the stables.

"Oh, here's one right now! Q, looks like you got yourself a midgey sidekick!" Santana called after her.

She turned and saw the little girl named Lily trotting up towards her from the road.

"Will you teach me how to ride a horse, Miss Fabray?" Lily looked up expectantly.

"Uh," Quinn looked towards Santana and Brittany. She didn't know how to deal with children. Or people wanting anything as simple as that from her actually. The pair just looked back in amusement.

"Please? I wanna help too!" the little girl reasoned as she grabbed Quinn's hand, tugging on it.

Quinn couldn't help but grimace. She did not like physical contact. She only let the brunette clean her wounds that one time because she was too weak to say otherwise. Even if this was sweet and didn't sting like a punch, it made her feel awkward, and so she wriggled away.

Before Lily could become upset at her hero's rejection, her name was being called out. They all turned to see Rachel Berry on the road, back in a quaint dress, with hands on her hips. She emitted the aura of a force to be reckoned with until her expression softened as the little girl ran towards her. She hugged the child before sending her back into town, and then regained her look of reckoning as she made her way towards the group.

"Stay away from her, Fabray," Rachel commanded. At least she was referring to her by name now instead of as a criminal, Quinn thought.

"The kid just wants to help," Quinn replied, calm and recovered from the arm grab.

"She is too innocent to understand the difference between who and what's good for her and what's not. You're a danger to this entire town," Rachel completed, trying to punctuate her point with a squinty glare before storming away.

"Well, all that huffing and puffing is definitely not good for her," Santana finally commented.

...

_"She's just trying to help,"_ Lily replied to her when she admonished the little girl for being out at the ranch again with the older blonde. As much as Rachel disliked this Quinn Fabray she couldn't completely hate her anymore as the blonde reminded her of Lily, who she cared much for. And Quinn was apparently Lily's hero. And she did get the cattle back.

So Rachel bit her lip and didn't confront the cowgirl trio that evening when they came in the saloon once again for some refreshments and to see Brittany's performance. She can try too – she _has_ been trying. She's back to try singing again for the first time since her father died.

After the dancers perform, she's introduced by Mr. Schuester, who has been doing his best to encourage her, and joins Puck on the stage, who is sitting with his guitar awaiting her signal. She picked a song she'd heard a couple of years back from settlers heading west that her father particularly liked, and had prepared her own rendition for him.

_Give me a home, where the buffalo roam_  
_And the deer and the antelope play_

As the words flowed through her, she started remembering what home used to be like. It was of a man who was gentle with others but firm with himself. She remembered those sunny afternoons singing for angels. It was sweltering hot, but she was happy.

_Where seldom is heard a discouraging word_  
_And the skies are not cloudy all day._

But then she remembered one day when the skies were gray. And she remembered why she began to fear the sun; because it was blinding and could not stop the shadows that appeared at night. Her voice began to break.

_How often at night, when the heavens are bright_  
_With the light of the twinkling stars_

She remembers a night with coffee and biscuits, and a strong arm that kept her safe. But when she blinks, her guardian is no longer there and all that's left is just a shadow. By habit she glances to her side looking for him – but it's someone else behind the guitar. She panics as the guitar's instrumentals take over and scans the room, trying to hold on to a memory. She sees a blonde quietly looking at her and is reminded of jail cells and toy stars, and that reality's silence is deafening.

She leaves the stage before finishing the final chorus and finds herself at the bar. Mr. Schuester understands and gives her a shot of whiskey. Puck joins her and gives a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She looks up grimly at him and he orders another round of shots.

Near the end of the night, Puck has left to help with something and Mr. Schue is floating around cleaning the tables. She takes the whiskey bottle and clumsily pours herself two full shot glasses. She downs them in succession as Santana appears next to her looking for more liquor. She's looking for more as well. She reaches out to grab the bottle again, but Santana notices her flailing and calmly nudges it away.

"What the hell, Santana?" she growled, obviously drunk.

"Well, lookee here.. Someone took one too many shots! You never swear, Berry," Santana surmised.

"Too many shots?" she scowled. "I'm taking this!" She then grabbed the gun out of Santana's open holster, in surprisingly only one exaggerated motion, and stalked off towards a table.

"That is a new pistol…" Santana muttered as she grabbed the bottle of liquor and followed in pursuit.

Quinn turned her head at the sound of a click and found herself staring at the barrel of a pistol held shakily by one red Rachel Berry. She found Santana shrugging with a whiskey bottle off to the side. All eyes left in the saloon were now on her table with Brittany and Tina, the other dancer who had joined them tonight. She looked back up to the brunette holding the firearm and cautiously raised a quizzical brow.

"You!" Rachel sputtered, rattling the gun. "I told you not to come back!"

Quinn looked away but remained still. The others looked on quietly, wondering who would stop the drunken singer.

All of a sudden shots rang out and randomly placed holes were left on the wall adjacent to their table. Quinn, still sitting, looked back at Rachel whose face and body were frozen behind the smoke that exuded from the gun's barrel. There was a second of silence before a knife flew, disarming the gun from the brunette's grasp, and a flash of limbs before Brittany was holding Rachel back from unleashing a protest of fists.

"Hey! Let her go!" boomed Puck, who appeared and came to stand in front of Quinn, who had also stood up and was now blocking his path. Rachel had stilled, beginning to sober from the loudness of the shots she had fired, and immediately regretted the mess she started.

"This is all your doing. We should have hanged you when we had the chance!" Puck accused Quinn.

"Noah…" Rachel started, moving away from Brittany's hold.

When Quinn didn't flinch, Puck gritted his teeth and drew his arm back.

"Now hold up you young—" Mr. Schuester rushed in ill-timed and bore the brunt of the punch, falling backwards onto the floor.

"Puck, STOP! She didn't do anything. It was my fault.."

Puck saw Rachel's disappointed face and knew what he just did. She never called him Puck. The others were now at Mr. Schue's side, wiping a towel at his bleeding nose. Puck's knuckles hurt for all the wrong reasons. So he turned and ran out the swinging doors, guilty for hurting and letting down the people who actually cared about him.

Rachel looked on helplessly as her best friend ran away and Mr. Schue was being carried outside to the wagon that would take him to the doctor's clinic at the other end of town. She made a fool of herself, for tonight she was the one who didn't know what was good for her, or anyone else. Trying, by itself, wasn't enough when you didn't even know which way you were headed. She needed help too. She needed someone to be at her side to guide her, to protect whatever light she had left in the dark. To pick her up when she fell.

As she followed out to join Tina and Brittany in the wagon with Mr. Schue, she was not yet completely sobered and climbed the step with a slight loss of balance. A hand reached out to steady hers and she stabilized herself enough to sit.

The hand set hers inside, and she gazed up to see that the gentle but firm grip belonged to Quinn Fabray.


	5. To New Directions

******A/N:** Hello! For MsCFH and Sanmon510: We'll be learning a bit more about Quinn in the following chapter. =)

* * *

**Chapter 4 – To New Directions**

...

"Are you the doctor?" Quinn stepped hesitantly into the front room of the clinic.

The young Asian male in a plaid shirt and suspenders looked up from whatever he was working on crouched behind a clothed bed, that was most likely a table for surgical procedures.

"Oh no, Miss, I just help. Mike Chang, at your service. You here to see Mr. Schue?" he greeted as he stood, wiping his hands on his pants.

He led her past the threshold where Quinn saw Mr. Schuester asleep on the bed, sporting a black eye and a bandage on the bridge of his nose. Brittany was resting on the side and Santana was nodding off on the chair next to her with an arm around the blonde. She slept back on the ranch, but Quinn agreed to take over some chores so the Latina could leave before the crack of dawn to check on the others.

The morning rays filtered through the windows. Tina smiled as she walked up to them.

"Mr. Chang, you think you could do something about this…?" She showed him a revolver with a knife embedded in the cylinder. She whispered, "I don't want Santana to kick my ass for stabbing her gun."

"You're the one who threw that?" Quinn noted, impressed.

"Yup. Figured I should before anybody got hurt," she admitted shyly. _Very talented dancers. Hm._

"I'd reckon that was a pretty good throw then," Mike smiled lopsidedly. "C'mon, let's fix this up front."

Tina ducked her head with a gracious look and followed him out.

"Hey, Q."

Quinn turned back to the bed and saw that Santana had woken up.

"How is he?" she glanced at the curly-haired bartender.

"The punch broke his nose, but Doc tried to fix it. He just needs to rest," Santana replied, rubbing her eyes.

"That's good."

She then decided to ask the question she'd been thinking about, regarding someone she noticed was the only one not present in the room. "Is Miss Berry still here..?"

"She's in the lab," came the reply from a different voice.

A small young man with spectacles appeared from another doorway in the back, sitting in a wheelchair. He steered himself towards the bed.

"Morning, Doc," Santana sat up, inadvertently waking Brittany with her movement.

"You're the doctor?" Quinn now understood why the surgical table in front was low to the ground.

"Of McKinley, yes. Artie Abrams, but you can call me Artie," he smiled, taking Mr. Schuester's pulse.

"Aren't doctors supposed to be… older?"

"Well, I was crippled as a young'un and couldn't be of much use out on the range, so I ended up just learning everything I could around here. Took over when Pa died. This was all his," he shared, wheeling around to face the girls with bright eyes.

He noticed Quinn studying his chair. "I designed this one actually, but Mike built it. I've let him play around in the lab ever since. You need anything built or fixed, he's your man. Speaking of…"

"Mornin', Doc!" cheered Mike as he rounded the doorway with Tina, holding out Santana's pistol, good as new.

Quinn looked on as Mr. Schuester started to stir from the commotion. Tina and Brittany shifted bedside while Artie and Mike began their check up and Santana scurried out to make coffee. She observed the light in their faces as they smiled in the familiarity of living together in a small town. They were welcoming despite her past, unlike others who ignored or despised her.

And then there was that other girl she had yet to figure out because she couldn't be defined by a single category.

...

Rachel Berry had yelled and shot bullets, but to her also belonged the kindness of the washcloth's strokes and the open jail cell. Quinn tried to give it back, but no. Saving the cattle hadn't been enough for the girl with the fiery attitude and captivating voice (because it really was the most pleasant sound Quinn had ever heard, regardless of how depressing it sounded at the time) – and those expressive eyes that seemed to take in more than what was palpable, because seeing didn't seem enough either.

No. She had to go and take Quinn's hand when the blonde had been drawn at the chance that, maybe, somebody would also take the chance to see her not as 'the outlaw', but as 'Quinn'. Her hand still jittered at its most recent unexpected action. The girl was shooting dents through her protective walls, allowing light to enter the cracks faster than she could get on with her life. And the most frightening part of it all, was that she _wanted _to open up to Rachel Berry.

So while the group continued their interaction, she slipped out towards the back to let the singer know Mr. Schuester was awake. But it really was because _not_ seeing the girl was soon becoming not enough.

...

Rachel had sobered at the clinic and spent the night giving an inordinate amount of apologies to Mr. Schuester when he finally came to. He was knocked out again though after being given pain medication, leaving her to be berated by Santana Lopez.

"See, Berry! This is why little people shouldn't drink big bottles. Now Mr. Schue's nose is as big as yours!"

"I resent that, Santana. My nose is perfectly fine!"

"It could've been worse, Miss Berry. At least you're not a stripper drunk like me," offered Brittany.

"Worse? B, she could've shot someone if she actually had aim!"

"Exactly, San. It would've been so much worse if she was naked."

"…" said Tina.

Rachel had had enough of the exchange and walked out into the lab area.

...

The laboratory had a wide window through the back wall, a large table in the center filled with flasks, tools, and contraptions, and full bookcases that lined the rest of the walls. It was the closest to a library that McKinley had and Artie would let her borrow the few reads that piqued her interest. There wasn't much of a selection in terms of singing and theatre, so she had to settle for books on flowers or constellations.

She found Artie and Mike working on some sort of experiment consisting of what looked like gunpowder and liquids that emitted strange odors from their bottles.

"That looks… quite dangerous."

"Doc's working with a new type of explosive!" Mike enthused.

"That didn't sound any safer…" Rachel discerned.

"Actually, Miss Berry, this one should be comparably safer than the black powder they've been using," reassured Artie, pointing to the pile of gunpowder. "I'll need Mike to run some tests on it though before we can try to make money for the town selling it to the railroad constructors."

Rachel glanced at Mike, who only looked a bit too excited about blasting objects out of the sky, and looked back at Artie with a frightened expression.

"Don't worry. Mike is very skilled at explosives."

"It's not that I like blowing things to hell and back, Miss Berry," Mike caught on. He then looked down. "My family worked with these on the railroad out west after my parents immigrated.." He turned back to the table and shrugged, "I guess I just want a better way to detonate them."

Rachel eased up and lightly nodded her head.

"Have you ever seen fireworks, Miss Berry?" Mike then added.

"No. But I've heard of them from Tina– she said they use them quite a bit in China for celebrations? Like man-made shooting stars."

"Oh, is that her name?" he tilted his head.

"Yes." Rachel noted the wistful smile that appeared on his face.

The Asian boy snapped out of his reverie and smiled back at her, "Well, something that seems as bad as this black powder, is what can make something as pretty as those fireworks."

...

Early the following morning, Rachel found herself thinking about Quinn Fabray, former outlaw turned town hero. She wondered why she was staying and helping people. She had let her go and, even after being confronted with a slew of gunshots, the girl was still the one that was there to help her onto the wagon. She tried to recall what she could of the hand that held hers. It was warm, and it felt strong but at the same time soft. It felt _safe_... She wanted to hold it again.

She gets hopeful when someone trudges in, and is slightly disappointed that it's just Santana returning from last night. She can hear Mike working on something out front, but the rest are still asleep. So she moves to the lab, not wanting to bicker with the Latina.

...

She's flipping through a book on fireworks that Artie recommended, _A system of pyrotechny_ by James Cutbush, and reading the chapter on Illuminations, when someone suddenly walks in through the doorway. This time she's neither upset nor elated – she doesn't even know what to feel because she has gone completely still. If she could think, she would relate every interaction they've had to one of those blurry oil canvas paintings with just the movements of breathing, aching for clarity so the rest of the picture could come into focus.

She focuses on golden edges and she closes her book on the table, waiting for the blonde to speak. But Quinn shifts her gaze to rove around as she fidgets with the wide-brimmed soft-felt hat in her hands.

Rachel figured Quinn wasn't much of a talker – it was more of a Rachel Berry forte, so she broke the silence once more.

"Would you like some coffee? Or…"

"No, uh. Santana already…"

Rachel quieted. Then blurted, "I'm sorry I shot at you last night."

Hazel eyes lit up. "No harm done. Though you could use some work... On shooting."

Rachel's cheeks flared. "Nonsense. Why does everyone keep insisting that? I was just slightly intimidated by surroundings."

"Intimidated?" Quinn mused.

"Yes. There were 3 of you at the table and only one of me."

"…But you had the gun."

"But I didn't know how to use it!" Rachel flustered, turning aside.

Quinn found her red cheeks kind of adorable. It suited her.. last name. _What?_ For all she knew, Berry could've came from blueberry. Which was blue. The little swelling that was taking place underneath her sternum was probably to blame for this lack of sense. But even in her right mind, she found herself wanting to know more about the girl in front of her than just the colorful origins of her name.

"Well, if you ever need to learn – I can teach you. There's a shooting range at the ranch."

But before Rachel could consider it, an argument began to escalate in the adjoining room.

...

A tall figure stepped inside. The beginnings of a mohawk dipped down as wary eyes glanced around the room.

"What're _you_ doing here?" the Latina asked hotly, placing her drink down on the side table.

"I don't want trouble. I just wanted to see Mr. Schue," Puck replied.

"What, so you can punch him one more time?" Santana challenged, standing up and taking a step towards him.

"You know it wasn't like that…"

"No, you—"

"San…"

Brittany pulled back on her girlfriend's arm as Mike stood in between the two and Tina fashioned her dagger, just in case another firearm whipped out.

"You young'uns stop right this instant before someone else ends up on a doctor's table!" croaked Mr. Schuester.

They halt at this as Quinn and Rachel entered from the lab.

"Noah!" Rachel breathed in relief. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to say sorry to Mr. Schue, but Lopez here decided to start a ruckus."

Rachel shot a look at Santana, who just grunted, crossed her arms, and turned away.

"You really should calm down, Santana."

"I have rage."

"San just gets cranky in the morning," Brittany apologized, proceeding to give Santana back her coffee to relax her.

Rachel then turned back to Puck, pointing at him.

"And you! Why would you punch someone without attempting to understand the situation first? You should control that temper, Noah."

"I figured you were in trouble! You couldn't even handle yourself, pointing that gun around–"

"Hey!" A vision of blonde curls interrupted.

"She can handle herself." Quinn was helping her. Again. And Rachel accepted it because_ I'm sure you can handle yourself, Quinn Fabray_. Rachel softly smiled at her for the first time as their eyes met in acknowledgement.

Quinn turned back to Puck. "Everything's fine, and Mr. Schuester's gonna be just fine. Alright?" Puck tightened his lip, but took a deep breath and backed away.

"Is there always this much drama at the saloon?" Artie asked the bartender.

The other three girls turned to him with a simultaneous, "Yes."

...

Mr. Schuester slowly sat up against the headboard. "You can't keep fighting one another," he stressed. "We all live in the same town now, no matter where we came from. So we should be helping each other out if we're going to help McKinley out of dire straits – like a _team_."

A communal deep breath filled the room with some eyebrow raising and grumbling on the side.

"Oh. Did I come at a bad time?" a soft male voice chimed.

"Oh not at all. Just a family gathering, I suppose. Everyone, Kurt Hummel," introduced Artie.

They nodded towards him as he cleared his voice.

"Good morning, fellow McKinleyans! The old man needs you cowbelles back on the ranch pronto," he waved. "And I was wondering if I could borrow some more of those law books, Artie? Anything to get away from chickens and ponies and old Hummel."

"I thought you liked ponies? You know, 'cause they prance," snickered Santana.

"Santana!" reprimanded Mr. Schue. There was no point in addressing them as Miss or Mister anymore since he decided they were all practically his children now anyway – children that needed reminding sometimes.

"You boys and girls are all over the place, always have been. I figure now would be a good time to route you from starting another Civil War. So here's something new to try: Be nice to one another – that includes your father, Kurt. Give each other a chance, maybe it'll lead to something good. It sure beats a bullet through your head.. Or a broken nose."

The room fell silent at that and they finally agreed to keep some peace with the other, perhaps for the first time.

Rachel then spoke up, "I agree, Mr. Schue. I think if we work together, even along different trajectories, we can end up making beautiful things. Like fireworks."

"I think she's taking that thing you said too literally," Artie whispered to Mike.

"Hmm."

"We'll help with the saloon until your nose shrinks, Mr. Schue," Brittany offered, looking to Rachel and Tina, who nodded in agreement.

"And I can help fix that wall that got shot," Mike smiled, looking at Tina.

"And I'll help Fabray and Lopez at the ranch," Puck volunteered. He was immediately showered with contemplative focus. He shrugged, "What? I do a pretty darn good job at wrangling."

And that was that. Artie and Kurt left for the laboratory library while the girls prepared to hit the saloon.

"Brisk up, lady rustlers. Can't keep old Hummel waiting," Puck called out, already at the doorway. Santana overtook him.

"I don't care what Mr. Schue says, but if you try to punch her again, I'll go all McKinley hills on your mohawk ass!"

"Noted."

Quinn shook her head, a slight smirk on her features. _Look at her, making friends and stuff._

She met Rachel's eyes once more. There was something in the way they danced on her face that made Quinn's lips softly curve up until she realized she was smiling at them. She didn't want to, but she had to get back to the ranch first – so she widened her lips as she tipped her hat before catching up with the duo.

Rachel caught that first smile directed at her and something clicked. It was like seeing a familiar landmark; a tree or a rock or a stream – a living thing that could show you the way when your compass broke. It told her that she was finally taking her first steps onto the right path. It also made her take notice of the stir that the simple gesture caused in her left chest.

...

Later that afternoon, she found herself trekking up the hill just off the road leading out of the town, slowly but deliberately. She paused under the shade of a tree near the corral and waited for the cattle to be penned. As the horses were being led back to the stables, she scanned the ranch until she saw her.

The blonde was washing her face, the tiny strands loose from her high ponytail sticking to the smooth skin just beneath her hairline. She noticed the elegant length of her neck as the blonde tilted her head to wipe off the water. She finally let herself admit that, well… Quinn Fabray was a pretty damn beautiful sight. She mulled over how the delicate features of this girl contrasted with a whole day probably spent wrestling cows, and recalled something warm, strong, soft, and safe. It tugged at her until she realized she had walked out into the sun and was now standing in front of this same girl.

...

If eyes could speak, hazel would speak of delight as beams radiated from flecks of gold. It was still once again, except this time the painting was clearer.

"Hi," she breathed.

"Hello." Their gazes never broke as a breeze sifted through the trees, flapping the leaves.

There are few times in life when you're given second chances. And this time, she wanted to get it right.

"I'm Rachel." Because she'd never introduced herself before.

"I know. I'm Quinn."

"Quinn." She smiled. It sounded lovely just by itself.

"I was wondering if you could teach me, how to go about aiming for things…" She showed her a polished Smith & Wesson revolver. It was a new model and, unlike most military pistols, was not susceptible to the effects of rainy weather. "It was my father's."

...

At the shooting range, Quinn stood behind her to her right. She trembled at the placement of a hand on her left shoulder because she _wasn't_ afraid of the girl at all, even if she should be. The blonde's breath caressed the side of her cheek as it was carried along the wind.

"Five points, Rachel," Quinn hummed as she sidled up next to her.

"A strong stance." Another hand was placed on the opposite shoulder, and she silently exhaled a shaky breath as they gently shifted her into a proper position.

"A high-hand grasp." The hand on her left shoulder remained, like a hold on her lungs, as the blonde brushed the fingers of the other lightly on hers to curl them around the grip, placing the web of her hand at the rear edge of the backstrap. Unlike the first time their hands came in contact, she was very much sober that the part of her skin where their fingers touched seemed to ignite like the rejoicing of tiny particles long-trapped in the spaces between her stratum.

"A hard grip." The same soft fingers tightened their hold on her hand, and for a second she wondered what they would feel like between the spaces of hers.

"Front sight." When the hand leaves to tap on the post at the tip of the revolver's barrel, the sudden emptiness makes her look up, only to transfix on the appeal of the profile just inches from her face.

Quinn meets her gaze and somehow knows what was missing as the hand moves back to lift her arm, reestablishing contact once more, to point her focus directly ahead at a distant tin can. "And then a smooth roll of the trigger.."

"This is the right direction?" she whispered chastely at their proximity, nodding at the 12 o'clock position of their arms and barely controlling the quickening in her chest.

"Yes. Shoot for high noon," Quinn whispered back.

...

A shot went off. But if it was from the gun or from a little organ that was supposed to be secure inside her ribs, she couldn't tell, because… _God, that voice._


	6. Smell the Flowers

**Chapter 5 – Smell the Flowers**

...

It was Brittany's first day back to the daily grazing of cattle and Quinn was relieved to have a change from the tense air created by Santana's offensive pelting against Puck's silent stoicism. She had also wanted to broach a topic she had tried to push aside, but nevertheless, managed to present itself repeatedly at the foremost of her thoughts.

"Has she said anything?" She dropped casually to the other blonde, as they threw their saddles and lassos on the fence. She then chastised her apparent eagerness. "About… the shooting lessons."

"Did she shoot someone?" They sat on the ground, their backs against the wood.

"Well, no..." She twitched her lip. "She usually has a lot to say, but we don't really talk and she... She still can't shoot. And… I was just wondering."_  
_

"Oh," smiled Brittany, but not offering any more.

Quinn found a very interesting patch of grass in the awkward silence. But after realizing that Brittany had been staring at her and her patch of grass, she resigned her fate.

"She didn't say anything about me?"

Brittany grinned. "Well, she said you were taller than she thought you'd be."

Quinn's lip quirked to one side as she glanced at the dancer. "Well, that's something."

"You got a thing for Berry?" She startled with a whirl as Santana came to a hover beside her, a serious query in her expression. Quinn managed a happy scowl.

"You're pullin' my leg, Q. The old sheriff's daughter?" she scoffed. "That creature is crazy as a— Hey!" Santana yelped as Brittany suddenly dragged her away.

Quinn looked at the direction of Brittany's raised brows. It was Rachel, approaching. She stood, keeping herself in check with a neutral face, but the glint in Rachel's eyes teased at her muscles. Rachel's sight trained on the receding duo before settling an amused look on her.

"I had an invitation for them as well."

Quinn shifted and continued her covert nonchalance. "Invitation?"

"It'll be Mr. Schuester's first day back at the saloon tonight, and I thought it'd be nice to celebrate." The shorter girl's eyes searched hers before Quinn noticed timid creases forming at the edges of her mouth. "You should drop by. I'll be cooking..."

Quinn's nose crinkled with a turn of her own lips, remembering the crisp aroma of biscuits and bacon grease. Rachel smiled with renewed vigor. Her eyes darted around the blonde's features as she rambled, "It'll be a good time! We can all help and I could use some assistance in the kitchen, but you don't have to–"

"Rachel."

She stilled and blinked to steady her eyes on a pair of gold-green that was now so fixed on her that they could be not mistaken otherwise. They were the most stumbling of colors, and she found herself attempting to swallow past the ache in her throat to regain composure and let out a feeble, "Yes…?"

"I'll help," Quinn smiled.

It was sweet and almost sinful, that smile. Rachel suddenly found herself in trouble when the taller girl took her leave and she realized the excuses of her actions in the past few days just to be around her. _She was attracted to Quinn Fabray_. Who used to be an outlaw. Who she still didn't know anything about.

"This is so inconvenient," she muttered.

She resolved to keep any signs of admiration from escaping her that evening as she walked back into town, firmly sequestering her eyes not to follow the alluring figure that meandered into the stables.

...

Quinn pushed through the batwing doors with Santana and Brittany entering in step with her. As her partners ventured forth, she delighted in the saloon's transformation from its daily collection of town alcoholics and drifters to one evocative of a holiday with a tight-knit group of kin.

Puck and Mike were lifting tables to form a linear dining arrangement. Tina was chopping carrots at the far end of the bar with such deftness of hand while giving occasional glances at the other Asian, that Quinn was amazed at how she hadn't sliced her fingers yet. There was the little girl Lily, entertained in curious conversation with the good doctor. A sort of orangey-redheaded woman was meticulously applying festive signs that spelled out "W-E-L-C-" on the previously damaged wall whose wounds had now been patched up. And there was Mr. Schuester behind the bar – with minimal swelling and fading periorbital pigments – listening to an eager-looking blonde woman, who Quinn recognized as one of the saloon's regular soiled doves.

Santana and Brittany were already helping move the chairs as she greeted Mr. Schuester and moved further down the bar. Tina really was a master at knives. She glanced up to greet Quinn without stopping the furious knock-knock-knock on the chopping board.

"She's in the back."

...

She followed the scent of pepper, cinnamon, and apples, rounding the corner to a roofed outdoor area where the brunette was enthusiastically fanning smoke from the coals burning atop the lid of a heavy cast iron pot. Several lamps illuminated tables bearing more Dutch ovens, cornmeal, flour, fruits, vegetables, condiments, and cups of leftover milk. Slabs of salted pork hung from cords attached to the roof. She walked over to a pot of red Mexican beans.

"What do we do with these?"

Rachel spun around, one hand still fanning as she motioned with a clip, "Just need to heat that up on top of this pot. You can start on the chicken pot pie."

She pointed to several pieces of paper nailed against a wall. Quinn flashed a confused look and a light betrayed Rachel's eyes, but she immediately turned back to the stove, leaving the blonde a bit hurt at the brushed off greeting.

Quinn scanned the papers that consisted of scrawled ingredients and directions for each dish before shaking her head and staring at 5 lbs. of disjointed chicken meat. She grabbed a pot and started placing pieces of chicken in commingled directions. This was the worst idea of all time. _What do you put in a pie?_ She focused long and hard at the papers.

"Are you alright?" Rachel was eyeing her.

She stepped back and inhaled sharply, skipping glances at the assorted vegetables on the table before coming to a stop at a pile of blue-black berries. Blueberry_ pie_.

"What do you think of… berries in chicken pot pie?"

Rachel scrunched her brows as she finished stacking the pot of beans over the coal.

"Are you trying to come up with your own dish? I already made sure to write detailed instructions," she expressed with disappointment. She thought Quinn would at least appreciate her efforts for organization. She walked over and pulled a recipe from the wall to show her.

Quinn stared blankly at the lines on the paper in front her and softly said, "I can't."

Rachel looks up at dilations of black inside hazel eyes. Her resolve breaks.

She takes the papers down, places them in a pile on the table, and takes a place beside Quinn. She recites ingredients as Quinn stirs them in a broth, her hand occasionally coming to gently grip the blonde's to help prevent the vegetables from burning.

Giddiness overtakes Quinn's face as she finishes the mixture with a top crust. She looks up at Rachel who smiles proudly at her before grimacing at a slab of pork.

"You want me to handle that?" she asked with a sly smile.

Rachel puffed, "Oh you think you can cook now, Fabray?"

"I do believe so."

She pursed her lips and stepped aside to cross her arms. "Alright."

Quinn smirked and placed the slices in the pan as a flutter started in her stomach at the concept of Rachel studying her. She cleared her throat and nodded at the berries.

"So what kind are those?"

"Elderberries, from honeysuckle shrubs. They were my Daddy's favorite," Rachel shared as she ran a hand through the pile. "You know birds love these as food..."

"I think they would've gone well with the pie." She grinned at Rachel before turning back to the pan. "Probably a masterpiece compared to that recipe of yours—"

A mash of dark juice and pulp splattered on the side of her face. She froze as a hearty laugh broke out, and turned to find Rachel Berry with hands full of her last name. She gaped before digging into the pile and getting even with a good helping on Rachel's face.

The brunette's laugh was infectious and outrageous as she fought back, tangling purple liquid into blonde hair. Before Quinn knew it, she was laughing – _really_ laughing for the first time since she can remember. They were both on the ground, stumbling over each other to see who could spread the last of the elderberries into the other's face between gasps of laughter.

"What in tarnation…"

"Fucking hell, Q!"

They stopped and looked up with big smiles as Puck and Santana stood at the threshold, surprise and reproof in their faces.

"For the love of fruit, why are you covered in berry juice!" declared Santana.

"Miss Berry, I don't approve of this," Puck inflicted.

"Me neither. We're to be starting soon!"

And the girls laughed some more because for the first time, Puck and Santana had agreed on something.

"Now we don't have a first course," Puck noted.

"Don't you fret, Noah. We'll figure something out," giggled Rachel.

Quinn helped her up as their two wardens went back out. However, the ground had become slippery, causing Rachel to crash into her that wrapping the tiny figure in her arms was the only way to prevent a fall. It was the closest to an embrace she'd ever felt and she realized her height allowed the brunette to fit snugly in the crevice of her neck. Then another cackle.

"You smell like… sweet honey… on pancakes," Rachel gushed between laughs, as she broke away.

"I get that a lot," Quinn simpered.

She took it back. Helping in the kitchen was the _best_ idea of all time.

...

They were all seated at the long table as dishes of pork chops, cornbread, soda biscuits, trail beans, and chicken pot pie were passed around and a happy bustle started at the modest but scrumptious feast.

"Thank goodness my nose is working properly again or I wouldn't be able to appreciate this darn good cooking, Rachel," Mr. Schuester commented.

"What happened to the elderberries, Miss Rachel?" spoke Lily between spoonfuls.

Puck and Santana shot a look at the two, who shared cheeky smiles from across the table.

"We didn't have enough left. So we made fried green tomatoes instead," Rachel diverted, passing down a plate of cornmeal-covered circles.

The older blonde-haired woman who had been fawning over Mr. Schue avidly placed pieces on his plate. He gave a concerned look at the redhead across from him, who had ducked sheepishly to focus on creating equal slices of tomato. The blonde noticed this and situated herself even closer to the bartender.

"You know, I should've been there for you, Will – when you hurt your little honker. Do you need a nurse? I can be a nurse," she rushed, wide eyes at Mr. Schuester.

He shifted in awkwardness, "Thanks, Terri. But Artie says I'm fine now." He turned to Artie and Mike. "Great to have you boys here, by the way."

"I don't really get out much, so it's a pleasure," Artie gestured.

Mike agreed, "It's nice to be a part of something again, Mr. Schue."

"Maybe Artie could do something about Berry's nose," pointed Santana.

"What is with you and my nose, Santana?" Rachel soured amidst the light chuckles around the table.

Quinn leaned across to look her in the eyes, her voice a whisper. "I think your nose is nice."

Rachel's cheeks tinged as a dimple formed on one side. She leaned back, tucking hair behind one ear before ducking her head to look at the ground. Quinn thought she was beautiful.

"So how are the preparations for the drive coming along, ladies?"

"Branding's almost done, Mr. Schue," Brittany informed, glancing at Santana.

"Hummel will probably send us out soon before the cold weather sets in," nodded her girlfriend. "Quinn's trail boss," she added proudly. The blonde was then showered with congratulations, though none came close to the admiration beaming from a pair of brown eyes.

"How long will you be gone for?" Rachel asked quietly.

"Maybe a month," Quinn replied. The brunette nodded before going back to her plate. She became silent. Quinn reasoned, "It'll take about two weeks to drive to El Paso, and another two if we manage to bring a new herd back..."

"Can I help with the cows when you get back, Miss Quinn?" asked Lily, whose ears perked upon word of new cattle. "If you say yes, maybe Miss Rachel will let me visit the ranch!"

Quinn regarded Rachel who looked at the child sternly. Lily's face fell.

"You never let me do anything..." she contended.

"I just don't want you getting hurt," Rachel said tenderly.

"Who made you my momma?"

"Lily…" She tried to wrap an arm around her as the little blonde's face swelled with tears, but she drew away.

"I wish momma was still alive," she sobbed, leaving the table that had quieted down at the scene.

Rachel's heart turned heavy and she turned to Puck, her expression drained. He squeezed her shoulder and stood up to follow after the child.

...

Quinn found her sitting outside on the porch of the saloon, just like the first time Quinn ever really saw her – with soft dark hair waving in the moonlight. And just like then, she found herself staring into coffee-colored eyes that seemed to seek her out as if to ask for the meaning of the universe inside their darkness. This time, she didn't walk away. And so Quinn sat beside her as they looked up, counting the stars.

"What happened with Lily?" she asked. She noticed their hands were centimeters apart.

"Her mother passed on from consumption a few years back... Daddy took her in just like he took in Noah and she grew up with us. But unlike us, she still finds the grass green even if it's all dried up. And she seems to like dangerous things. People." Rachel glanced at her with a playful smile. She didn't move her hand and Quinn smiled back.

"I reckon that's what Daddy liked about her so much. She's not afraid of taking chances. I feel like I'm holding her back, but I just… I don't want her to end up like Daddy." She paused to take in a deep breath and then shook her head. "Why am I telling you this?"

"Probably why I ask myself what I'm still doing here," Quinn chuckled.

Rachel fixed her gaze on verdant eyes. "Why are you still here?" she asked quietly.

Quinn didn't know what to say. She never truly put herself through such an inquisition.

"To change, I guess. Being an outlaw… wasn't for me," she finally struggled.

"Have you ever shot anyone?"

"Yes."

"Did you shoot my father?"

"No."

Rachel counted the light in Quinn's eyes that penetrated the night of hers and she was comforted. "I'm sorry. I never asked Noah about that day. I was afraid."

"Of me?"

"Of the truth of the past," she replied.

A silence passed before Quinn said, "You don't have to be afraid, Rachel." The brunette glanced up at her and she shrugged, looking out into the distance. "I figure you can't change your past. But you can let go and start your future."

Rachel began to remember the words her father said one night under the stars. She thought about Lily and about taking chances. And she thought about what would change if she'd just move her hand.

Quinn turned to see Rachel's hand folding around hers. She looked up at bright eyes.

"I have an idea." Rachel smiled before pulling her back inside.

...

After being excused from the evening's revelry with Mr. Schue at the guitar while the others drank moonshine, they found themselves on the outskirts of town by an area that was being developed into a rail yard before stalling for lack of funds. In its stead were a couple of dilapidated tents with meager flickers of lamplight.

"This is where the orphans stay. Daddy didn't have the heart to send them off, but the town didn't have any money to take care of them properly," Rachel said, heaving the pot of beans forward.

Quinn followed her, hauling another pot, as they cautiously entered one of the tents. Inside, a lanky girl with long brown hair and blue eyes, just a few years their junior, froze and stared at them warily. Next to her was a tan-skinned boy who Quinn recognized as the one who'd rouse the hens and cause mischief on the Hummel ranch. Behind them were younger children with hollow cheeks; all looking earnestly at the pots they carried, but also at the elder girl for approval.

Rachel kneeled and started placing food in cups, lining them on worn crates. The young girl spoke.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to help you," Rachel replied, scooping beans.

"Why? Most people don't care enough to help. Most people forget," the girl said meekly.

Rachel stopped, spoon mid-air, and said, "We're not most people."

The girl gave them a moving smile and came forward to accept the food, passing it down to the younger children as Rachel went back to filling the rest of the empty cups. A warm aura enveloped Quinn as she watched Rachel, and she couldn't help but start to fall for this girl who moved her to kneel and share the bread in her pot to the ones without.

...

By the time they finished washing the pots back at the saloon kitchen, the group's merriments had lowered to spare strums of a guitar as the others started to disperse home.

"Let's go, Q… I want. To sleep," garbled Santana, traipsing crookedly outside as Brittany held her up.

Quinn turned to someone calling her name. Rachel was standing at the doorway.

"Thanks for today," she smiled in the moonlight.

When Quinn doesn't manage a reply, Rachel makes a move to head in – but a hand grabs hers and she turns to see Quinn moving towards her. She looks down at their clasped hands as Quinn runs a thumb across her knuckles and says, "Thank you. For letting me go."

Rachel looks at her intently. "My father used to beat me and my mother," she continues, an edge in her voice. "He was a drunkard and would lock us in separate rooms."

Her face scrunches as she stares at Rachel's hand. "One day I got away, and I just kept running, until the gang found me. John James– he was as unruly as the stories tell, but the one in charge of us greenhorns never locked me up and that was all that mattered. So I became an outlaw."

Rachel gazes at her and says, "You're a lot more than that, you know."

She smiles at their hands and softly says, "Goodnight, Rachel."

...

Rachel watched as the trio walked off before going back in to settle a matter that had imprinted itself in her head.

"Ms. Pillsbury, can I ask you something?"

The redheaded woman paused her takedown of the signs on the wall. "Yes, Rachel? What can I do for you?"

She pondered a bit before asking, "Have you ever liked someone so much you just wanna… cook all day and shoot things and cry?"

"Well, Rachel, uh—" the woman flashed a glance at the bartender who was cleaning glasses. Rachel looked disconcertingly across the room and back, and the woman's cheeks turned crimson. She cleared her throat.

"You have to let them know you're interested," she composed.

"I'm afraid I don't know how to do that without looking like a fool," Rachel frowned.

"Mm. I have just the thing."

She handed Rachel a flyer. It had the word "wanted" on top and an empty box in the center.

"It's a wanted poster," Rachel deadpanned.

"Yes, you write down the qualities of the person you're looking for here," she replied, pointing to the empty box.

"But it's a wanted poster."

"Yes, it's like a personal ad."

There was a moment of silence.

"What if they try to shoot the person I'm interested in?" gaped Rachel, wide-eyed.

That was the last time Rachel went to Ms. Pillsbury for advice on matters of the heart.

...

The following day, she found herself rummaging through the bookshelves of the lab, finally tugging out the books she was looking for.

"Oh. Hi, Rachel." She turned to see Kurt Hummel stroll in towards the volumes on another wall.

She smiled, "Borrowing more books?"

"Mhmm," he nodded, returning her smile.

She set her findings on the table and glanced at him. "Are you really going off to school to be a lawyer?"

He sighed. "You can't convince me to stay in McKinley, Rachel. My father has tried and now we get into fights over it to the point he wishes I had a brother who wanted to help with the business instead of me."

"I guess business is so bad that, well – you'd be a great help here, Kurt," she soothed.

He spoke honestly, "It's not that I don't want to. I do. But in a different way, by going out and going after what I dreamed of doing."

Rachel looked at her books and suddenly wished they were about singing instead of guides to practical medicine on the trail. "I get you, Kurt."

He smiled brokenly, "I just wish my father would."

...

She visits the ranch the day after that, bringing Lily and Puck. Puck works with the girls, perfecting their hand signals adapted from the sign language of the Kiowa Apache to communicate over distances while on the drive. To Lily's delight, Quinn teaches her how to ride a horse. Rachel watches as a young blonde and an older blonde teach each other things the other has never known. She sees her world beginning to change.

...

At the end of the day, Puck takes Lily home and Rachel sits beside Quinn under the tree by the corral. Quinn looks at her as she opens the book in her lap.

"I brought you something," she says.

She hands over the book and enunciates each word slowly as she points to them on the page. She asks Quinn to do the same, and Quinn begins to associate letters with pronunciations as she reads the words Rachel points to. She smiles. It was a book on flowers.

...

One day, while accompanying Lily to the stables to return their horses, the little girl says, "You know Miss Rachel always talks about you."

She lifts an eyebrow and tousles the child's hair, "Oh?"

Lily giggles, bats her hand away, and says, "Yup. She says you're the prettiest girl she's ever met."

...

"I think I like this one," Quinn points to one page. "It's about lilies."

"Read it," Rachel smiles.

"_The __lily-of-the-valley enjoys the refuge of shady locations. It is not one of those flowers that grabs your attention, but rather one needs to bend close to it to perceive its delicate beauty and inhale its elegant rich perfume. On one level its odor is very simple and elegant, but on careful smelling of the aroma, the components that make up its simplicity are very complex. It is the very first of the flowers whose scent is a true summer scent, for it never flowers till the bitter winds we so often get in late spring are over_," she finishes with Rachel's help.

...

The following days, Rachel begins to teach her how to write.

"Gardenias. Secret love," Rachel would recite, and Quinn would scribble them down on her paper.

"Hazel. Reconciliation. R-e-c-o-n-c-i-l…" Rachel would spell out the more difficult terms until Quinn was able to by herself.

"Honeysuckle. Devoted affection." Her first words look like commingled chicken scratches, but it makes her happy. She attempts a cursive; copying the tapering leaves and the arched stems of the flowers Rachel would read about.

"What about the lily?" she asks Rachel, now that they had gotten to the 'L's.

"Lily. Innocence, purity... Lily of the valley. Humility, the return of happiness," Rachel says. She grins and leans down raptly as she writes. Rachel looks over and lifts her chin with a finger saying, "Posture, Quinn," and she sits back up to Rachel's amusement. "Tiger lily…"

"There's more?" Quinn lifts her eyebrows.

"Yes, Quinn," Rachel smiles.

"What's that mean?"

"I dare you to love me."

...

"I don't get what she sees in that midget," Santana sighs one day, watching the two from afar.

Brittany just smiles and says, "She's just looking for somebody to love, San."

...

Two days before the girls are set to leave, they're sitting at the corral with Rachel and Puck.

"I'm going on the drive," Rachel suddenly announced. Quinn looked at her in surprise as Santana gagged on her water.

"I noticed that you don't have a cook, and I'd be happy to take the job. Unless you'd prefer to starve," she reasoned.

"Yes, we do need a cook but…" Quinn checked Puck's reaction.

Rachel turned to him with determination in her eyes. "I want to see what's out there, Noah."

He sat pensive before saying, "Alright. But I'm coming along to make sure you ladies don't get into any trouble."

"Puck can be the wrangler! And he did teach us fancy sign language," Brittany agreed.

"Great! I've already talked to Mr. Hummel, so the wagon will be ready tomorrow," Rachel cheered, clapping her hands.

Quinn smirked, "There is no stopping you, is there?" But she was secretly thrilled at the fact of not having to part with Rachel for over a month.

"Have you ever _been_ outside of town, Berry?" Santana asked.

"No. But I've read all about it, Santana."

Santana shook her head, "This is going to be one heck of an adventure. You best pack extra underpants."

...

...

* * *

**A/N: **One of the scenes in this chapter was inspired by a similar scene from a certain movie. Brownie points for you if you caught it! (The title is in one of the lines.) It's not IM&Y, though the lily meaning can be. =) The passage Quinn reads about the lily of the valley flowers is taken from a white lotus aromatics 2010 newsletter.

To Sanmon510: Thank you once again for the review! I hope I answered your question here, but we will be finding out more as the adventure gets going.


	7. To Stars, Keeping Watch in the Night

**A/N:** Hello again. =) This is a bit of a long chapter so it took a while to write up, but we're finally off on an old school road trip! Tidbits: I placed this fictional McKinley to be just around south of Roswell in New Mexico. The locations mentioned here are/were (at the time) real places in NM and Texas, so I do not own them either. (And in case you're wondering, I've never been to any of them, though I now have a newfound appreciation from looking them up and would love to!)

Also, cookies to those who caught the reference to the film, Fried Green Tomatoes, in the last chapter. And we will be meeting more familiar faces as we go on. But when and what they will be doing in this western universe, you'll have to see. ;)

I'd also like to say thank you to _Wlfgrrl_ for writing the most wonderful PM that made my day, and to _President Raggy_, _thatdamnyank_, and _Sanmon510_ for taking the time to share your enthusiasm and words. =)

* * *

**Chapter 6 – To Stars, Keeping Watch in the Night**

...

It was just a few moments after dawn when the last of the supplies were packed and the chuckwagon was secured – albeit crowded once Rachel had managed to impound the chest containing the group's extra clothes, dusters for rainy weather, possibly _one_ pair of trousers for herself if necessity required her to be brazen on horseback (she still adhered to the taboo of women in anything _but_ gingham dresses and prairie skirts), and extra underpants, according to Santana.

She and the Latina weren't particularly fond of the other, but since this was her first step into the seemingly endless sweep of unknown earth, she opted to take any advice she could avail of. This included the trail books and Artie's instructions on handling the medical supplies, which she dutifully organized in a separate compartment in the wagon bed, as well as the brief lesson on the logistics of a cattle drive that she kept in a pocket she had sewn into the inner lining of her bolero, because Quinn had drawn it for her and it was the first thing Quinn ever gave her, and she wanted to keep it safe.

She pulled the brittle yellow paper out and unfolded it to look fondly at the little splotches and lines of ink that created the positions of humans vs. animals, teaching her the five points of the herd that the drivers would control. She looked out at the ambient light that scattered over the mild stirring of a herd in anticipation.

Puck was positioning the extra _remuda_ horses that he'd handle as the wrangler at the drag point of the cattle, which would also allow him to help move along the cows and calves at the rear. Brittany was securing her lariat rope onto the horn of her saddle, important when riding at the flank and catching strays. At the swing position a third from the front was Santana, in charge of keeping the bunch together and moving – and hell, any normal creature would probably displace itself at the vehemence that came out of Santana's mouth, so it was a perfect match.

Rachel stifled a snort and swept her finger that followed the inky cattle line to the pointer and trail boss. She smiled and scanned her gaze to the positions at the front that would serve as a guide for the animals to follow, saved for the best hands on the team, but Quinn wasn't there.

Puzzled, she glanced around in the lull of her twilight until it was broken upon seeing the blonde approach, almost supernal, with streaks of hair aglow under the peeking rays of morning. She hurriedly stuffed the paper away and mused on the wagon brakes, as one could never get going with such hindrances, but alas were necessary at times to keep the wagon from ending in a ditch and— "You ready to stand the gaff?"

And the brake came off. She held it awkwardly in her hand as Quinn's face broke into a smile and a laugh.

She shrugged and chucked the brake into the wagon, simply because it was a chuckwagon and it was okay to simply be Rachel around Quinn, and said, "I suppose so, now that the brakes are… broke."

Quinn continued to wear her smile as she turned to secure the harnesses on the wagon horses. Rachel was giddy. She continued her momentum of releasing the rest of the brakes.

"You good with the route, Fabray?" They turned to see Burt Hummel, a half smile to one side.

"Yessir. Taking the Pecos River down, then turning a right through the mountains to catch the water."

He beamed. "Alright then. Just a couple folk here wanting to see you off."

He stepped aside as Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury arrived from the road with Lily, a somber expression on her face as she looked up at Rachel and Quinn.

Rachel stooped down and held the tiny shoulders. "We'll be back before you know it."

Lily ducked her head and gave a light nod, but didn't say goodbye. Rachel exhaled a deep breath before standing to bid a farewell to the others. The little girl watched quietly as Rachel moved towards the wagon. She then saw Puck walking up to join the meeting.

He held out his hand. She ran to him and flung her arms around the side of his waist instead and whispered, "Who's gonna take care of me if you go?"

He tightened his lip and carried her up into a hug. "Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury will take good care of you." She calmed and he set her down to shake hands with Burt.

She then looked to Quinn who said, "You keep watch of the town while we're gone, alright?"

The child smiled at that. "Promise I can join the round-up when you get back?"

Quinn rumpled the short blonde locks. "If we bring a herd back."

"You will."

Quinn smiled as the child returned to the group. They were still in discussion when she noticed another horse exiting the stables. It was Kurt, and he was riding towards them, saddle fully equipped, coming to an abrupt stop next to his father.

"You leaving today too?" Burt asked without looking at him.

"Yes, Dad."

After worrying his lip, Burt finally looked up and said, "Well. You take care of yourself."

Kurt softened at that. "I'll be back," he said, as he tipped his hat before turning his horse north.

Burt looked after him as he galloped off. _No you won't_, he thought. His vision watered and the fleeting figured blurred away.

Santana rode up to Quinn. "The sun sure is taking its damn time rolling its ass out the hills."

As if it heard, the heavenly body broke through at that moment with first-light, shining a path down the valley. They all looked towards it and grinned at one another.

"Take 'em to El Paso, Fabray!" Burt hollered. Quinn tipped her hat, tied her bandana, and climbed her horse.

Rachel made a move to climb into the wagon, but turned at the sound of her name. Lily was running towards her. She scrunched her face and swooped down once more to take the child in her arms. The little girl burrowed her face in brown hair. Rachel leaned back and brushed strands of blonde to the side to place a light kiss on her forehead. Lily finally let go.

"This ain't going to work if you're gonna be hugging everybody every time you get on the wagon, Berry. That's over a hundred cows to hug, let me remind you."

Quinn gave Santana a look. "That's our cookie for the drive you're talking to, Lopez." She then smirked. "You better make sure she gets on the wagon or no beans for you."

The Latina narrowed her eyes. Quinn chuckled, "Let's line up the herd."

Santana snorted but smirked back, "You're the captain, boss."

Rachel had been attempting to climb into the driver's seat during this time, but the dress was to be an impediment. Not to mention that the wagon was a bit tall for someone of her stature. She'd played off every failed lunge by pretending to tighten the stake rope on one of the bows, when really she was trying to use it as leverage to swing on. Santana watched her and shook her head.

"This is so sad it hurts. It's like watching a baby cow die—Berry, stop torturing me!" she griped as she finally managed to push the brunette up into the mouth of the wagon. "Wear pants next time!" she huffed, as Rachel fixed her dress and took up the reins.

"Dresses are pretty, Santana. You should try them."

"I'm already _pretty_, Berry. Now let's get a move on!" she yelled back, cantering off to help with the line up.

...

When the team was all set in position, Quinn gave Santana the signal. Santana grinned and raised her arm to whip in the air as she hooted a 'Yee-haw!' and loped her horse at the cattle. Brittany and Puck saw the signal from their respective points and joined in the shouts as they cast in, arms beating and lassos thrashing; creating a quickening that spread through the herd, awakening the bovine instinct to follow. And just like that, hooves thundered and clopped amidst the sound of whoops and whistles, dust scattered, and the whole valley came to life. The cattle were strung into a line. The drive had begun.

Rachel had never felt anything like the majesty of the rush that filled her at the sight of the gentle beasts that flowed past both sides of the wagon, sweeping down the stream of sunlit ground. Though she was particular to organization, today she wasn't swayed by the mess of dust that billowed around her because when she thought about it, those particles were flying free in the air – and how _she_ longed to be free at that moment. So she gripped the reins wound around her hands and flicked them loose.

Wheels turned and drove her to a position beside her pointer. Quinn flashed her a smile as she trotted beside her. Rachel grinned back before giving a "heeya!" And they were off – Rachel Berry, commandeering her own driver's seat.

...

They plodded through the desert basin, past the flora that reached out to graze their movements or dance with the wind. Mountain ranges surrounded them, resilient to the whirl of the world. Rachel had never felt so small, and she knew what small was. Her heart was filling with a sense of the beauty of such a vast space that she was afraid she couldn't hold any more as her eyes darted manically, trying to absorb every new sight, her skin trying to feel every new sensation.

And when she breathed to renew that space, just being assured of Quinn's presence whenever she'd rein to a trot beside the wagon always managed to fill her to the brim again. She found her eyes setting very frequently on the blonde as she led them forth; a master on the quarter horse and as resilient as the mountains, but moving and alive and in her element, and it was beautiful.

While she felt so awkward. She was the only one still in a dress, though she figured out a way to mount the wagon on her own wearing it because she didn't want Santana to have the last laugh at her choice of trail outfits. She scurried behind Puck at the sight of a lizard she claimed was a dragon because it leapt out of the brush, though he reassured her that it was only 8 inches big and didn't spout fire. She argued that it was 8 inches of big sharp teeth, and that you should never play with fire anyway. Or was it water? She would yelp at the sight of little calves that waded too far into the river because she feared them drowning. Brittany then comforted her by graphically telling her how dead calves would make for great beef for the chuckwagon, leaving the blonde to wonder why Rachel would try even more frantically to shoo them away from the riverbank.

"Rachel, the calves need to drink too!" Quinn would yell out.

"Santana said it was a sad thing to watch baby cows die!" she would cry back, flailing her arms at the animals.

Quinn would just smile and laugh, and ride over to herd the calves to the chuckwagon, where Rachel would let them drink from the water barrels she made sure to refill daily.

"This—is the most interesting thing I have ever seen in my life. _In a what the fuck way_," Santana would grieve.

Quinn agreed only with the former. Rachel was a most interesting sight. She was quirky when out of her comfort zone – like chicken scratches that were lovable but could transform into elegant script once given the chance to learn. Rachel's musings would brighten her day that sometimes she would rein next to the wagon just to breathe them in and notice little things, like that the brunette's hair began to grow out in color from the sun, turning lighter shades of rich copper at the ends that made her seem to shine. Still, Quinn never made any motion to let Rachel know this because she didn't know how to simply be like that yet, because of the complexity of things like the colors of Rachel's hair.

...

So the drive continued this way for the first few days, following the steady course of the river. Rachel was up before dawn with a lantern on the chuck box that folded out into a work table at the back of the wagon, where she prepared their breakfast and coffee for the day. They would drive the cattle for 10-15 miles – so as to keep their weight stable for selling – stopping to graze for the noon meal and retiring at the next camp area where Rachel would drive ahead to prepare supper.

In the evening, they would pull out their bedrolls and extra sheets to set teepees, then pick straws to see whose turn it was to watch the herd that night. Santana and Brittany shared one teepee, leaving Rachel alone in the other as Puck and Quinn both preferred to sleep outside. They would then fall asleep to the strums of Puck's guitar as Rachel turned the tongue of the chuckwagon to point north, so that Quinn would know which direction to continue the drive the following morning.

The new panorama of life was magnificently terrifying for Rachel, because the words in the guide books were now palpable, as if she had been numb before and then suddenly jolted into her senses – and how do you prepare for that but to experience them head on? And she _wanted_ to feel it because she wanted to be moving and alive and beautiful too. So she 'stood the gaff' and treaded on. And the desert taught her many things.

She learned that though it looked barren at first, it was full of life. And that its creatures had to adapt to survive its complexities. That you have to adapt to grow, and that growth is life. She observed that lizards and snakes would hide from the heat of the day and slither when the sun set, so she learned to keep her boots on at night while preparing supper between the fire and the chuck table. And what she appreciated most was the teamwork. That though she felt out of place sometimes, they respected her purpose, and would bring her firewood and water for camp and help with the dishes.

Still, when it got too hot to wear the bolero and she would toss it in the back of the wagon, she felt a painful longing to keep her paper drawing though she had no pockets in her skirts. She still jumped at the strange noises that whistled in the night, and would chastise herself for looking for Quinn when she ran out of her carefully constructed sheet-teepee and Puck was the one to check up on her to tell her that it was alright to go to sleep. She realized she just wanted Quinn.

...

So Rachel decided to be even more eager to please, and Quinn noticed that their breakfasts began to consist of bacon. Lots of bacon. She didn't mind one bit, but she knew at this rate, they'd run out of meat.

Rachel was packing the chuck box for the morning when she saw Quinn walking up to her. _This plan is flawless_, she thought, and a smile crept on her features.

"Rachel?"

"Yes, Quinn?" Her eyes blinked with more frequency than what was normal.

"We've been having a lot of bacon lately—"

"Yes! Do you like it?" Her smile shot out across both cheeks.

"I do, but—"

"But…?" She began to frown. Quinn didn't like it when Rachel frowned. She scrambled for a response.

"It's just that, if we run out early, we're going to have to kill one of the cows for beef."

Rachel gaped in horror as she stammered, "Oh! I'm sorry, I just noticed that you seem to really like eating it, ever since—you know—the jail, when I cooked it for you because I don't eat it myself."

She then quickly resumed securing the wagon, leaving Quinn conflicted. She didn't want Rachel to think she didn't care. Because she did. She was _so_ beginning to care, and a whole lot more than she knew what to do with. But Rachel remained quiet for the rest of the day. She was brooding. She figured this was just a minor setback and began hatching another plan.

...

The following afternoon, she hauled out a steaming pot and set it down in front of Quinn who was resting against a rock, her hat covering her face.

"I brought you something," she announced eagerly, kneeling down next to the blonde. Quinn pushed her hat up. "It's nice and hot," Rachel continued, as she gave her a cup of stew.

Quinn sat up and offered a smile. Rachel didn't budge and stared at her holding the cup. _Oh_. She began to sip – and she would've swallowed the first bit regardless of the temperature, but it was without a doubt the most God-awful thing she had ever tasted. She was about to gag when her eyes flickered upward and saw Rachel looking expectantly at her. And she cared about those brown doe eyes, she did. So she mustered half a smile as she gulped it down. "Mm," she nodded as her eyes teared.

Rachel face split into a wide grin. It was a masterpiece. And she didn't even use a single piece of meat. Quinn wanted to douse her mouth into the water barrel, but Rachel stayed with her, so she smiled crookedly while continuing to drink because Rachel was happy.

Santana finally saved her when the brunette went to scold the Latina for making a mess of the wagon bed while rummaging for utensils. Santana emerged with two bottles of whiskey.

"Berry, what did I tell you about big bottles?" she smirked.

...

That evening, against Rachel's admonishments that the liquor was from Mr. Schue's stock that he intended to sell in El Paso and Santana reasoning that they'll pay him back with the money from the drive, the bottles were eventually opened. They relaxed around the campfire passing swigs of whiskey as Puck strummed his guitar and Santana bounded around relating stories of the old cattle trails.

Rachel ended up joining in to prove Santana wrong about little people being able to handle their liquor, as well as to build some liquid confidence to get close to Quinn again. Sitting beside Puck, she looked across the fire at Quinn as she drank from the bottle, feeling the burn in her throat, before passing it to Santana with a smirk.

"Whatever, Berry," sneered Santana, accepting the challenge.

When Quinn kept passing on her turn, Brittany asked, "Are you in abstinence?"

Quinn chuckled, "You know I never drank much at the saloon." She nodded towards Santana and Puck who were now starting to sing randomly and added, "Besides, they're not gonna be able to keep watch tonight."

"Yeah, I don't let San carry watches. She might hurt someone with the metal if she gets angry." Quinn scrunched her forehead.

"She gets angry when people make her feel like she can't do things just because she's pretty and hot, so she usually has a hard time making friends. But she protects the ones she has like they're a pot of gold," Brittany explained. She smiled and looked to Quinn. "Thanks for giving San a chance."

Quinn warmed at that. She'd never had a real friend before either, and now here she was bonding with 4 others. She realized Santana was also probably just being protective of her when it came to Rachel. She gazed over at the two who were arguing about how bad the stew was earlier and that Rachel should never cook it again. Now she just had to get the Latina to play nice.

"You know you make a lot of sense, Britt?" she acknowledged.

"I speak truth, Quinn."

She smiled and took a deep breath, watching Rachel now argue with Santana about singing and not dancing. "So what do you reckon is the truest thing right now?" she joked.

"Rachel wants to get her sweet lady kisses on," Brittany nodded nonchalantly, before getting up to join the dancing that started to the guitar's song.

Quinn was left with a slight chill in the air.

...

She was lost in thought when Rachel hunkered down next to her, almost swaying over. "You wanna dance—Quinn?" she squinted, grabbing the blonde's arm to tug on it.

Quinn shifted uneasily, but not because she didn't like Rachel's touch. It was more of a buzz that hummed through her that made swallowing difficult. And the fact that this was probably not the best way to figure out what Brittany meant since she could smell the whiskey on Rachel. So she went with, "I think you've had a little too much to drink, Rach."

"I knew—it! You don't wanna dance—with meee," Rachel slurred, as she poked at Quinn's cheek. Quinn just lifted her eyebrows and chuckled. Rachel – without a gun – was by far the cutest thing to ever be doused with alcohol. Her eyes then expanded at Quinn, trying to focus. "WHY?" she asked.

Quinn turned her head to look at the brunette wrapped around her arm, her eyes reflecting the twinkle of the fire. A rich brown, like dark sugar cookies.

"Because you need to get to bed, you're our cookie. Who's going to cook breakfast?" she soothed.

"Mm. Cookie. I like that," Rachel mumbled, her lids becoming heavier. She then passed out.

After sitting for a while trying to memorize the feel of Rachel's temple on her shoulder and how utterly content she was at that moment just listening to the hum of the steady breathing of the girl next to her, she knew that they couldn't stay like that through the night. The fire was crackling its last and Santana and Brittany were starting to head in.

"Alright, Cookie. Let's get you to bed," she murmured, as she carefully slid her arm from Rachel's grasp to wrap around her back. She then turned to loop her other arm under the girl's knees and slowly lifted her up into a carry. Rachel was dead weight, and Quinn exerted her best to not let her hold slip as she shuffled towards the cook's teepee. The flap was too low to carry the brunette through. "Rachel. I need you to help me walk you in, alright?"

Rachel stirred as Quinn let her stand, her arm still supporting the girl's back. Knees bent, however, and Quinn found slender arms wrapping around her neck. She noted the smell of the soft brown hair that grazed her chin – a warm vanilla – as she continued to usher them inside.

"Here," she said softly, kneeling them down to sit Rachel on her bedroll.

"Mm… Quinn," Rachel mumbled, reaching out to her shoulder.

"Yes?" she replied, holding the girl steady.

"…Why do I have to like you?" she murmured, her head tilted and her eyes closed.

Quinn felt her pulse skip and her thoughts slightly short-wire. She blinked rapidly and swallowed with a chuckle. She wanted to say something back, but feelings were hard to say. She always thought all you had to do was feel them. So she took a deep breath and replied once more with, "Goodnight, Rachel."

Rachel probably wouldn't even remember her words tomorrow. But maybe because some things are truer said under the stars, a hope remained in her head that Rachel might still remember by the time it took for her to be able to speak of feelings. So for now, she took off her fringe jacket and rolled it. She then slid it tenderly under the brunette's head and wrapped a blanket around her before stepping outside.

...

"What were you doing?" Puck asked in a low tone, looking warily between her and the teepee.

"I just helped get her to bed."

Puck studied her before looking out at the herd and saying, "Well, you get to bed, boss. I'll keep watch."

"It's fine. You drank too, you get some rest."

Puck looked back at that and said, "I've lived out under this sky as a child. I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

She now studied him. He had become calmer on this drive. "Alright. But tomorrow I nighthawk."

"It's a deal."

After picking out his night horse from the _remuda_, he looked back at the camp and saw Quinn moving the chuckwagon to point the tongue north, which was usually Rachel's job. He was beginning to trust her too, for something deep down told him he wouldn't be able to look out for the old sheriff's daughter forever. The wilderness was calling him. And it troubled him sober. He gazed out to the sleeping herd and listened to the whistling noises of the night.

...

After one week's journey, they spotted a peak of limestone that rose abruptly from the desert basin.

"They call that _El Capitan_. We'll be heading into the mountains soon," Santana informed.

"You've been here?" Rachel called out.

"We came from El Paso before moving to McKinley," Brittany revealed.

"That's where me and B met! Why do you think Hummel let us take this route?" Santana winked.

"Did you know this?" Rachel asked Quinn. Their trail boss nodded.

Quinn still kept things from her that she thought she should've known. She began to regret blurting out her drunken confession the other night. She remembered, and now realized the blonde never said anything because she didn't feel the same. Something splintered inside her.

...

They pushed into the mountain canyon, trailing the cattle slowly through the highland forests; all hands staying alert to the dangers of a sudden slip, or an attack from the mountain lions and black bears that roamed in the wilderness, or anything that could cause a stampede. All hands except Rachel.

She droned on lost in her thoughts, tending the shards in her stomach, until she faintly heard someone calling out to her. "Rachel." She turned to the sound.

"Rachel." She saw Quinn galloping towards her but blurred and distant, and she wondered why.

"—on the horse, Rachel!" It was louder and clearer, and she was suddenly thrust back.

She felt drops on her head and looked up. Dark clouds enveloped them as the heavens flushed water upon their part of earth, the rain becoming heavier. She looked back to Quinn, her eyes confused and frightened.

"Rachel, get on the horse," Quinn repeated, turning her steed parallel to Rachel's seat. She did as she was told and they turned back towards the herd.

"What's going on?" she finally spoke, as water trickled down her face.

"Caught a monsoon. We have to keep the herd together. And I had to get you out of the wagon, in case we can't."

Rachel looked out at the bustle. The others were circling around the mass of cattle, holsters open and lassos ready. It was then she realized her arms had been around Quinn's waist as the blonde shifted to pull off the rope from her saddle. She suddenly blushed at the fact that she could feel Quinn's muscles on her abdomen with a damp shirt as the only barrier, and shifted as well, but Quinn pulled an arm back and turned her head saying, "You have to keep holding on, we're going to be moving a lot. Alright?"

She could only swallow thickly and nod her head.

All of a sudden, a loud cracking noise tore through the atmosphere, trembling the ground as lightning flashed in the distance. Reverberations spread up into the herd and started a churn. It was a rumble that spelled what they dreaded most.

They all snapped into action, rushing to the first points of cattle to break on the run. The milling turned into hysteria however, and soon a flood of longhorns swarmed in different directions. Rachel held on tight as Quinn reached for her pistol and galloped towards the direction of the moving herd, shouting for Santana and Brittany to round the sides in the opposite direction and for Puck to secure the backflow. They shouted and yipped and fired shots in the downpour, until finally, the lead steers of the herd slowed down and the cowhands were able to round them up into a circular mass once more, establishing control.

...

"Shit. The wagon," Puck noted, once they drove back to their original point. It had been knocked over by the stampede, with the cover torn in one part and their supplies littered in the mud as the rain continued on, lighter now.

"Let's make camp and fix what we can," Quinn decided, as they dismounted and began sifting through the remnants.

Brittany picked at a closed chest and peered in. "At least we still have some underpants to change into."

"Are those the only dry clothes?" Rachel walked over, clutching her shoulders to ward off a shiver.

Brittany nodded. Santana laughed and turned to Rachel. "Guess you're gonna have to wear pants after all, Berry."

"I hate you, Santana," she sulked. "I hate the rain."

"Rain makes the flowers grow," Puck smiled, trying to comfort her. "And extra water for your calves," he continued, as he pulled out the water barrel and set it upright with the mouth open.

She grumbled and went off to try and scavenge her skirts, but found them trampled in mud. Upset and still soaked, she turned to find Quinn wrapping a long dark coat around her shoulders. It was one of the dusters they had packed for the rain. She would've remembered to distribute them earlier if she had been paying attention. She looked up at Quinn, whose face was framed by drops of water, and Quinn gazed back.

"What about you?" she stammered, as Quinn rubbed on the coat arms to warm her up.

"You're the only one not used to this, and it's the only dry one I found," she replied. Rachel shivered, but not at the cold.

"What?" Quinn eyed her with concern.

Rachel shrugged further into the coat and looked out at the mess. "Santana's right. I shouldn't be walking around in a dress out here."

Quinn chuckled, "Why? You look… nice—in them." Rachel's eyed widened and looked up at hers. She stumbled in her thoughts and recovered with, "I mean—you looked nice. When you sang at the saloon…"

Rachel let out a tiny laugh as her cheeks colored and cleared her throat. "We only have trousers left."

As Quinn nodded in response to her and glanced around, she noticed that the blonde hadn't moved from the spot just inches in front of her. And that Quinn's hands still held her arms.

As she stood there thinking about this and how Quinn had come for her at the wagon and about the warmth of the coat around her, she realized Quinn had been watching over her this whole time. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Quinn did feel something for her.

"Thank you," she blurted.

Hazel eyes turned to peer deeply into hers, as Quinn's lips slowly broke into a half-open smile. A new thought began to ache at a part of her. _She wanted to kiss Quinn._ It was unexpected, and she felt as if her chest would burst from the inner war to find her breath.

"Q, the food's spoiled!" _Thank you, Santana_.

"Then we best look for supper," Quinn called back, as they broke apart reluctantly and turned towards the encampment.

Along the way, their hands managed to find each other. They had no idea of how it happened, but only that they fit perfectly.

...

That night, Rachel sat next to Quinn as they leaned against a rock and looked up at the night sky through the clearing in the sentinel trees. The rain clouds had dissipated. Rachel traced a familiar outline with her eyes that her father once taught her so that she would always be able to find true north. She didn't need to trace it really – it was always the brightest star in the dark – but she did it out of habit, like she used to as a child. It was an act of reverence for the beings that held the light up in the heavens.

Quinn noted the poignancy in her expression and asked, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm remembering, about angels," she whispered, and turned to Quinn, who looked on patiently. She continued, "I know it sounds silly but… I used to think they were the ones who held up the stars in the sky to guide people, and that they're supposed to be like guardians and keep us safe." She looked down. "Daddy was the one who taught me about them as if they were real. But they couldn't even protect him. So I stopped believing in them."

"Why are you remembering them now?" Quinn asked softly.

She gazed back up to the sky. "Because maybe I was wrong. The stars still shine, no matter how dark the night is – and that they shine all the more brighter the darker it gets – and the sun still rises every day. And, maybe they're so real you can feel them. That they're always still watching over you. I, I don't know…"

Quinn turned to find her fighting back the pooling in her eyes. "What do you think?" Rachel asked her. Their hands were holding again.

She contemplated and answered, "I never believed in angels. But I believe in stars."

Rachel dabbed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"The room I was kept in as a kid, it only had one window. And it was up on top so I couldn't see anything but the sky. It faced a direction where I couldn't see the sun, but I could see the stars at night. Especially that one." She pointed to the shiniest one.

"Polaris. The north star," Rachel said.

Quinn smiled and said, "It was the only constant light. Everything else in the world was moving except me, and that star. I would wish on it… That one day I'd be able to get away, that I'd be able to move, and run. And I got my wish."

Rachel felt repose at that. She no longer feared the night, as she snuggled into Quinn's shoulder, their hands sheathed together. Then, gazing back up at the sky, she made a wish.

...

Across the camp, keeping watch, Puck turned from where he too was reflecting on the order in the constellations. He focused once more on the whistling noises of the night. There was something different in their tune. Something very familiar. He opened his holster.

...

Through the trees, under the leak of moonlight, a shadowy figure slinked behind the teepee next to the chuckwagon.


	8. Listen

**Chapter 7 – Listen**

...

Rachel awoke to the morning chatter of birds. She opened her eyes and was welcomed with orange hues fogging through the overhead foliage. She felt a stir next to her and lazily cocked her head to see a mop of blonde shuffling deeper into the covers of a bedroll. It was the first time she decided to sleep outside and it felt absolutely liberating. She smiled and continued reveling in the smell of the dewy air. And smoke.

She bolted up and looked to last night's fire, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of a pot over the crackling wood. With one more gaze at the cocooned figure, she stole towards the chuckwagon.

...

"I didn't know you were taking over the chuck today," she greeted.

Puck glanced up from the pot and grinned. "Caught a wild turkey last night."

"Was that why you were prowling about in the woods?"

He stared at the broth and sullied his lip before replying, "Yeah."

She observed him a bit then remarked, "I don't like turkey, Noah."

"Hell, you don't like any meat. We lost the dough and beans in the stampede."

"We could go fishing," yawned another voice. Brittany had shrugged out of their teepee with Santana trailing.

"There's a creek just past the herd," Santana agreed, still wrapped in her bedroll. She looked across the fire. "Whaddya say to some morning fishing, Fabray?"

Rachel turned to see Quinn joining them, their eyes dancing at one another in silent greeting. "Alright."

"If it's all the same, I'd like to learn to catch some fish too," Rachel volunteered, as Santana took out the spears.

Quinn lifted her brows and smiled before handing her a spear. Rachel grinned widely.

Puck looked to Quinn. "Best bring your pistols. Never know what's out there."

Quinn acknowledged his sternness and nodded at the others to fix their holsters. She then brushed hands with Rachel, giving her a glance, before she walked off.

"I saw that," Puck commented.

Rachel quickly turned from following the blonde with her gaze. "What?"

Puck smirked, "You like her."

She blushed and blinked furiously, gripping her hand that Quinn grazed. "She's our trail boss. Of course I have to like her."

His face turned smug, "You haven't looked at anyone like that ever. And I know you'd rather forage for berries than spear poor fish."

"Shut it, Noah," she grumbled, swatting him on the shoulder.

He chuckled and caught her wrist before turning serious. "Just be careful, alright? Stay close to her. Now go on."

She narrowed her brows. He'd made several rounds during his watch last night, cooked breakfast, and now was fine with letting her run off with Quinn. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. The others then yelled after her, so she gave up her questioning and followed suit.

He didn't want to worry her about the whistling calls he heard last night that didn't come from any wild turkey, or the tracks hastily covered behind the chuckwagon. He just hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

Once the broth was finished, he checked the herd and grabbed a rifle. He retraced the tracks into the forest, quietly scanning trunks and twigs. Finding no signs, he reached the edge of a hill and looked down to see the girls minutely in the distance at the creek, fishing happily. Shaking his head at his own paranoia, he turned towards camp.

That was when he saw a flurry of movement in his peripheral. He zeroed in through the dense trees and saw a small band of figures moving stealthily downhill. His eyes flashed with dread. There was no mistaking the fringes on their shirts or their long flowing hair as they carried ready bows, with only one direction on their painted faces.

_Fuck._ He raced towards the creek, hoping he'd get there in time.

...

"Berry, what in the hell are you doing? Your dwarfish shadow is scaring away all the freaking fish!" Santana yelled, kneeling on the shore.

Rachel stabbed at the water and grunted in frustration at another miss. She looked over at Quinn who was smiling at her, crouched ankle-deep on the other side, her spear full of fish.

"Come here," Quinn beckoned. She sloshed over, hiking her drenched trousers.

"I hate fishing," she pouted, as she handed over her spear. "Santana said to be aggressive! And then she says not to scare the fish—"

Quinn pulled her down beside her and raised a finger to her lips. "You have to find the balance between that. We stay quiet and out of sight so the fish will come to us. We wait, and then strike hard."

"I don't want to wait, Quinn. What if no fish come? Don't you have to go after them if you want them?"

"They'll come."

"How do you know?"

Quinn stilled and opened her senses to the vibrations of nature. "You listen. You'll feel it if it's right."

Rachel narrowed her eyes at the creek and whispered, "I still don't like waiting."

Quinn chuckled and focused on the trickle of water downstream. A sound invaded the tranquil air, a hiss of reckoning. She whipped her head up. Another zing. Thump.

"_Fuck_! B!"

Quinn looked to Santana diving towards Brittany, who was falling over, clutching an arrow shaft sticking out below her shoulder.

"_Son of a bitch_—get her to cover!" she growled, yanking her pistol and firing at the source as she grabbed Rachel and leapt towards the two. They hurriedly dragged Brittany into the woods, resting her in a trench behind a barricade of large roots.

Santana wrestled her bandana and wrapped it around the bleeding, silently looking to Brittany with worried anger.

"We forgot the fish," Brittany grunted sadly, handing her pistol to Rachel.

Santana smiled a little at that and crooned, "I'll find you a bigger fish later, alright?"

The three then cocked their guns and quieted. The crunch of fallen leaves and the padding of steps neared them. Rachel thought it was funny how leaves sounded most beautiful when they were dying. She tightened her grip on the revolver and looked to Quinn who, with haunting calm, took her free hand and steadied it with a reassuring squeeze. The padding stopped. Quinn gave Santana a signaling look.

They vaulted into action, shouts turning into shadows with eyes until there came a standstill of guns mirroring the arrowheads that surrounded them. Neither side fired as they took in each other's forms.

"Please don't shoot," Rachel spoke shakily. An arrow immediately shifted towards her. Quinn stepped in between them with a snarl. She suddenly spoke in unfamiliar language with high and lone tones, alarming both sides. The warriors relaxed their weapons but did not point them away.

Santana looked to Rachel, "Wh-what did she say?"

"'Good morning'? I don't know!" Rachel whispered.

One with long hair twisted into rolls stepped forward and replied in the native tongue. Quinn half-lowered her gun.

"What did he say?" Santana tried again.

"To drop our pistols," Quinn replied.

Santana didn't yield and aimed at the leader, "I better not. My girl has an arrow in her chest and I don't want none on mine. Dammit, where the hell is Puck when you need him?!"

"Right here." A rifle's barrel touched the back of the leader's head with Puck at the trigger. Puck uttered a gruff command in Apache. The man with the locks in his hair turned to face him. Puck's eyes widened. The rifle dropped.

"Brother," the man uttered. He signaled the bows away.

Puck's shoulders slumped, his face stunned. "Joe."

Rachel puzzled her brow. "If you're Apache, why is your name Joe?"

"Jesus, Berry, you can't just ask a native why his name is Joe!" Santana hushed.

"Y'all, I'm still bleeding. And we haven't had breakfast," Brittany mumbled from the ground.

With that, the weapons were sheathed and the group, in cautious understanding, moved to settle matters at camp.

"You missed me, Lopez?" Puck smirked, carrying Brittany on one side.

Santana snorted with an appreciative smile, "Never."

...

They watched as the one called _Nah-kah-yen_, or "Keen Sighted", pulled the arrowhead from beneath Brittany's clavicle without hesitation. She gritted her teeth as blood pooled over broken skin. Rachel hurriedly plugged it with a cloth as Keen Sighted placed a powdered plant root on the open flesh. He spoke in Apache to Quinn.

"It's supposed to stop the bleeding," Quinn translated to Santana.

"Yeah? It'd done better or I'm going all McKinley hills on his ass for shootin' her."

Keen Sighted looked at her and replied, "Usen did not intend for fish to be eaten."

Santana scrunched her face.

"Usen is their deity," Quinn explained, as Rachel prepared the sewing kit to stitch Brittany the way Artie had taught her.

The one named Joe leaned in to stare at Quinn. "How do you know the ways of the _Shis-Inday_?"

Rachel did not like the way he had been looking at their trail boss. She seemed focused on her stitching and knots, but her ear was attentive to Quinn's conversation.

"…I was an outlaw. We hired native guides to steer clear of the Apache raiding band trails."

"So you are _Icimanipi-Wihopawin_, the beautiful woman who travels," he smiled.

Quinn smirked a little and, at that, Rachel cut the end of the last knot with such tension that the thread plucked like an out of tune guitar string, snapping the knot into place with an "Ow" from Brittany.

"Sorry, Britt," she struggled, a scowl on her face.

"Rachel. Are you alright?" And the way Quinn said her name was like music strummed tenderly from that patched up guitar string, which frustrated her even more.

With a plastered smile, she nodded quickly, "Brittany's gonna be just fine." After applying the tincture and dressing the wound, she got up without a word and walked off. Quinn's eyes trailed her with concern. Santana noticed.

Puck suddenly spoke up. "Brothers, I know you didn't attack because of the fish. I heard the scout calls. You've been following us for days."

"We thought we could take the cattle," Joe answered.

"A raiding band. You're a bit far from the usual trails," gleaned Quinn.

His expression turned serious and he looked at Puck through steely eyes. "We were on our way south to find a great _Shis-Inday_ leader who has been leading the fight against those who have forced our people off our land."

"We wish to join his forces," added Keen Sighted. "How about you, brother?"

Puck shook his head. "I intend on finishing this drive. So if you won't let us get on with it, then we settle things now."

Joe chuckled, "I always followed you around when we were but _ish-kay-nay_, and you were always there to get me out of trouble. I don't intend to stop following you now. We will guide you to El Paso. There's plenty trouble afoot these days."

...

They continued their journey for the day, an unlikely mutualism of people and cattle treading silhouettes against the setting sun-lit range. And when night came, they built camp faster with extra hands that there was time to hunt instead of sacrificing sellable beef.

It was Quinn's turn to watch the herd and the fact that Joe, or _Klo-sen_ – which meant "Hair Rope", as he was called, decided to help nighthawk soured Rachel enough that she didn't stay for fear that she might actually hair rope his neck. So she forced herself to go with Santana and Keen Sighted on her first hunt.

...

"Stop fidgeting in the grass like a pirate out of water, Berry. This isn't a treasure trail," Santana chided.

Rachel returned from her search with a pout. "I couldn't find any game."

"That's 'cause you _have no game_."

"Santana, I'm hungry. Can't we just…pick berries—"

"Shh!"

They stilled as a black-tailed stag came into view, its forked antlers branching from the side of a tree as it poked its head into the grass.

Rachel's eyes widened as Santana shouldered her rifle. "I thought we were looking for wild turkeys!"

"Nope."

...

Keen Sighted hauled in the carcass to prepare for roasting and Santana hauled in a weeping Rachel.

Quinn hastened towards them. "What did you do to her?" Rachel walked into her arms, sobbing into a shoulder.

Santana looked on, dumbfounded. "I shot a deer for dinner and she cried."

Quinn held onto Rachel's soft frame as she trembled lightly and lifted an eyebrow at Santana.

"She said she was hungry!" Santana reasoned as Quinn led the brunette to warm by the fire.

...

"Rachel." Quinn whispered. It was that voice again, the one that spoke to her when she first learned to shoot and couldn't understand why her heart leapt. It was low, pretty, and a bit of a dream. It was music, and it quelled her tears as she choked out, "That deer had a mother."

"What would make you feel better?"

_Just this and you_, she thought. But they never seemed to move past friendly, so she answered, "Singing."

"Why don't you?"

"Because _that_ I never seem to be able to do anymore after..."

Quinn's mouth opened with upturned edges, "You've fired a gun, survived a stampede, and speared fish. I think you're strong enough to do anything."

_Because of you_, she thought. Quinn was so perfect and she never realized it until Hair Rope arrived with his creepy stare.

"C'mon, look. Puck's got the guitar," Quinn gestured. Rachel hated the strain on her thoughts. _Would you want me enough, if I do this for you?_ She stood up and walked over to Puck.

...

Quinn watched as the group quieted down at the song that began as a fragile whisper, but became a swelling that drowned the other harmonies of the night in its magnificence. She remembered how enchanting Rachel's voice was the first time she'd heard it, and how there was this hidden ache in its timbre, yearning for something. She'd never heard anything like it. She made up her mind. There was nobody like Rachel Berry. Maybe there never will be.

...

The next morning they foraged for berries on horseback, so as to prove less traumatizing than last night's hunt, but Quinn noticed Rachel's uneasiness on the saddle.

On the way back to round up the cattle, Hair Rope handed over his find to Quinn. Rachel had had enough of his eager smiles. She scowled, and yanked the reins a bit too suddenly that her horse whipped around with a whinny. She panicked and jerked wildly on the restraints, but only sent it into more of a frenzy, squealing along with her yelps before rearing and bounding off with her in tow.

Quinn immediately turned to the sound of Rachel's cries as horse and rider disappeared into the woods. She tightened her hold on the reins and with a "heeya!" sprinted after her.

She could see Rachel thrashing atop her horse as it charged past whipping leaves. She spurred her own horse faster, edging closer. "Rachel, take my hand!"

Rachel cried and reached out to her as she raced parallel, slinging an arm around her shoulder. Keeping her horse running steady, she yelled for Rachel to jump. The brunette flung herself off the harried animal and into Quinn's arms. She wrapped herself facing Quinn as they slowed to a stop. Her horse ran off into the wilderness.

She burrowed her face into Quinn's neck as she gasped, "I'm sorry about the horse."

"Shh. It's alright." Quinn held her with one arm as she reined around and realized they had gotten lost. "Let's just get you back to camp." She picked a direction and trotted onward.

She followed a gentle stream where the water was so clear you could see the rainbow trout. It led them through a path tucked between towering limestone walls; the secrets of this silent oasis whispering at her heart as Rachel rested against her chest. Rachel saw the wildflowers clinging to the seeps within the canyon walls.

"Where are we?"

"I don't know, Rach."

She smiled at the nickname and kind of thought it was the best thing she'd ever heard. She stole glances up at Quinn who was concentrating on finding a way back.

The trail opened into the heart of the mountains and they found themselves atop a ridge overlooking a breathtaking vista of the canyon. The landscape was littered with colors of red, vivid yellow, and bright orange in a spectacular display of autumn trees against the cliffs under a clear blue sky where golden eagles flew overhead. It was magic.

Quinn breathed it all in and watched as Rachel gaped in wondrous awe. "I've never seen anything so beautiful," she whispered.

Quinn gazed at her and how she glowed with a light in her eyes and how the breeze flapped the silky strands of her brown hair against her cheek. "Yeah," she breathed softly, for she had never seen anyone so beautiful with fascination as when she was really looking at Rachel right now.

Rachel suddenly grimaced and touched the side of her head.

"What's wrong?" Quinn searched her face as she brought her hand down. Her fingertips were painted bright red. A branch had probably gnashed her in the chase. She looked up at Quinn with worry.

"Don't turn away," Quinn said softly as she tugged off her bandana.

She watched as Quinn brought a hand up to dab off the blood with the bandana. And when hazel eyes looked at her, she quivered because she remembered a jail cell and a washcloth. And those eyes remained on hers because they remembered it too.

She remembered how attractive Quinn was the first time she saw her without the blood, and how that had gradually become thoughts of wanting to cook for her, to host a dinner for friends _with her_, to spend her time pondering the meaning of her whisper and smiles, and… She lifted her hand to brush through Quinn's hair, inching closer.

And those eyes remained. The hand with the bandana slid down to cradle the angle of her jaw. And in the majesty of those mountain ridges, all one could hear was breathing.

When Rachel fluttered eyes at her lips, Quinn swallowed thickly. Could she handle the fall? The autumn that surrounded them was beautiful, but with the frailty of dying leaves. It would all be so much simpler if she could just stop saving her life. All she'd ever wanted was to be free, and now there was this somebody who her heart was attaching itself to; something that was becoming more irreversible the more Rachel defiantly closed the distance between them. She didn't want to want her too much, but she wanted her too much.

So when Rachel lifted her chin to hers, she pulled away and said, "I can't."

...

They found the path back in silence. And when they arrived at camp, welcomed with faces of relief, Santana watched as Rachel hurried off towards Puck in quiet hurt while Quinn's eyes once again trailed her in desolation.

That evening by the fire, she sat down next to her friend. "What's with you and Berry?"

"There's nothing between me and Rachel," Quinn replied, turning her pistol around in her hands.

"You fucking dashed into the woods to save her and she comes back looking all sad and shit and you don't go after her. What did _you_ do to her?" Santana offered with a light smirk.

"I don't want to keep on saving her damn life," she muttered.

"Then don't. She's a grown woman. And besides, there's Puck. And there's me and Britt too…" Santana bashfully admitted. "We're friends now, Q."

She shook her head with a sad smile. "It's not that. It's because I _want_ to keep on saving her damn life." Santana narrowed her eyes. She took a deep breath and said, "I like her, San."

Santana snorted, "Well, _that_ we all kinda know – except maybe Joe. Y'know she doesn't like him because of you, don't ya?"

"I know."

"Then why the hell don't you go after your girl, Fabray?"

"Because I don't want her to matter. I've never been good at saving anyone that mattered to me."

Santana scrunched her face. "What the hell are you on about?"

"Brittany. I should've known something was up – I'm trail boss, I'm supposed to keep everyone safe. My mother…" she quieted.

Santana had never seen Quinn vulnerable. "…What happened to her?"

Quinn looked out to the fire, searching for images long buried. "There was a hole through the wall next to the door—I would see my father beat my mother before coming for me. I learned that the smell of alcohol meant pain. I learned that pain came from hands and I learned not to feel it. My mother never did, but she tried her best to hold up for me. She would make sure I always ate well on days he wasn't drunk and we were let out."

The hints of a smile faded. "One day he beat her too hard, and by the time I got to her she didn't move any more." Her face fell. "It was the day I tried to run away, and he took it out on her. She was the only thing I ever wanted to save, San, and I couldn't."

She recalled grabbing a gun for the first time – her father's gun – and firing a shot. He didn't move any more either, but it was too late. It was then that she turned numb, hiding her feelings in a place forgotten. But Rachel.

Rachel shot holes in her wall. Drunk Rachel smelled like vanilla and "I like yous". Her hands brought gentle caresses. Rachel was making her remember how to feel, and it was like she had been given the stars and she didn't know what to do with it.

She looked down at the revolver in her palms. "And I'm not a good person, San. Rachel was the one who freed me. I didn't have anything. This gun, she gave it to me with 5 dollars in one of the chambers. And that's all I have, and I won't make any more money until I finish this drive. And I don't want to make any more money by killing and stealing. Because she helps these kids, and me—I…"

She took out a wrinkled bill from her pocket. She never spent it. "I only have 5 dollars, and yet she makes me feel like a million bucks. And I'm scared that I won't be good enough for her."

Santana studied her then said, "It's not all up to you, y'know. Shit happens. You don't have to spend your whole life repenting in the damn desert. You have permission to love, Quinn."

...

Quinn led them out of the mountains after several days with Rachel being distant. Every time she'd try to brush hands, the brunette would shift away politely. It tore at her, but they needed time alone for her to broach the topic.

They finally arrived in a low mountain area of boulders with depressions that held rainwater like huge tanks, and found a sheltered area to make camp. Adorning the canyon walls were curious markings.

Rachel inspected closer to find ancient paintings of mask-like faces and panels. "This place is old."

"Very old," Brittany agreed.

"Old as balls." Santana wiped the dust from her finger that grazed the rock.

"Tribes have sought shelter here from the desert for thousands of years," Joe explained. "They believed that the water in the _huecos_ is a gift from the spirits. They say that when you tell your stories here, the Grandmothers and Grandfathers listen and grant you courage."

Rachel ran her fingers over a starry-eyed face made with green pigment over flecks of yellow-brown rock.

"Those are the guardians," Keen Sighted smiled next to her. "They have stars in their eyes to reflect the _Sons-ee-ah-ray_, the morning star that takes away the clouds. So that we can walk in the darkness without stumbling."

...

Puck walked up to Joe, acknowledging another painting. "You don't have to fight."

Joe looked out. "The white man's great war is over, but ours has just begun. We're not fighting for land, we're fighting for a home. Where we can have peace without getting slaughtered like cows." After a breath, he asked, "How come you never came back to the reservation?"

Puck dropped his gaze. "Never felt like I belonged."

Joe snorted, "_Our people_ don't have anywhere to belong. Thought you'd gone and joined outlaws or been hired by soldiers to fight against other _Shis-Inday_."

Puck looked up in surprise. "They fight against their own people?"

"They probably have reasons for it. Maybe fighting the enemy from within, waiting for the right moment to strike."

"That's suicide," Puck huffed.

"Sacrifice is necessary for the bigger cause, brother."

...

She was sitting outside by one of the _huecos_, flicking a fountain pen until she was able to scribble onto the back of the paper drawing Quinn had given her.

"What are you doing?"

She looked up to see Quinn sitting down beside her. She took a deep breath and said, "Trying to get the ink out. I wanted to write on the rocks."

"What story did you want to tell?"

"About a girl who waited."

"Waited for what?"

"Fish."

A realization overcame Quinn's face. Her voice ached, "And what if no fish come? What if the fish can't swim—"

"Then the girl will help it along," Rachel hushed. Quinn looked at her, a twinkle in her eyes, and Rachel found courage.

"Quinn. I don't know what scares you into silence, but I want to know. I want to know you. And I feel it because I've been listening. I've heard how my heart pounds around you, and it sounded the same as yours when you rescued me. That's why you have to know; that I care for you more than I thought was possible. And I am waiting for you."

Quinn's heart unhinged its last lock. She looked helplessly at girl she opened it to and said, "I… care about you, Rachel. I just—don't know… how to feel these things."

Rachel smiled patiently. She took Quinn's arm into her lap, the palm up. With a bemused expression, Quinn looked on as Rachel took the pen and began writing on her arm. It tickled in a way that made her happy. The first time she felt happy was when Rachel threw berries in her face; loud and playful. The last time was when Rachel brushed her hair; silent and serious. She saw the letters on her arm spell out "R-A-C-H-" and she smiled.

"Do you feel that?" Rachel asked her.

"Yes," she replied. Rachel was happiness.

...

She led Rachel through a narrow ravine where there was open rock for her to paint on. They ended up with ink on both their hands, and when Rachel tried to smear her inky fingers on her face as if it was elderberry juice, she subdued both wrists and wrapped the tiny figure around in her arms, silencing their laughs.

Rachel, her back against Quinn, turned her head to ask to be let go, but it was then that she felt a pair of lips press softly against her temple. She stilled in surprise as Quinn remained against her hair, cradling her within her curves.

"Stay with me tonight?" she asked simply.

...

That night, they placed their bedrolls next to each other. As Quinn lied on her back, it was her turn to still as Rachel wrapped an arm across her stomach, cuddling into her side. She wanted to hold on to the sleeping form beside her, but thought about the possibility of drowning from the overflow into her newly opened heart. It would have to be step by step until she could learn to run freely in happiness.

For now, she smiled and drifted asleep to the bliss in Rachel's breathing. They had a long day tomorrow.

After tomorrow, they'd be in El Paso.


	9. To El Paso

**A/N:** Hi guys. Sorry for the delay in updates, been quite busy and will be until the end of Dec. - though I'll see what I can do. We won't be ending anytime soon, so thank you for reading along! There'll be a bit more action here on out so let me know what you think. If you have any questions, feel free to message me here or on tumblr. Places visited in the previous chapter include McKittrick Canyon and Hueco Tanks in west Texas. Have a wonderful holiday season. =)

* * *

**Chapter 8 – To El Paso**

...

On the second day they sighted a boomtown set against a backdrop of red clay mountains, split in half by the Rio Grande.

"El Paso," announced Brittany, sporting a reminiscent smile.

"It means 'the crossing' or 'the step'," said Santana. "El Paso del Norte on the other side of the river is already Mexico."

"That's where we're headed," Joe noted. He looked at the drovers. "This is where we part ways. Towns aren't a safe place for us." They turned to Puck.

"I'm used to towns," he said. He looked amongst the Apache and wondered if he'd ever see them again. Sacrifice usually meant you didn't come back. _Who would do that? _He lifted his hand in a sign of farewell. Joe and the others signed it back before turning towards the mountains.

...

They came upon the outskirts of El Paso, dazzlingly lit at sunset in a myriad of fireglow. A distant song of festive strings and commotion played as a small entourage of riders neared them in the twilight. The stout, well-dressed gentleman in front halted with a tip of his bowler hat.

"Cattle drovers from the north, I reckon?" he smiled as their horses flurried around, an excitement in their manner.

Quinn greeted back with her hat, "McKinley, sir."

"Well you're just in time!"

The party looked on in question. One of the men chuckled, "Anniversary of the town's founding! The good Mayor announced some celebratin' for the coming days."

He nodded to the gentleman who continued, "The crowds are already out. Why don't you run 'em down the main road, give the people something to look at?"

The drovers' faces draped confused half-smiles. The mayor laughed, "Welcome to El Paso!"

...

They drove the cattle through the streets that led to the railroad station at the edge of town, parting the waves of brassy dresses and nightshirts of dancers and onlookers that matched the loud horns and calls mixed with Spanish that heralded their passage. Lights were strewn above them as children ran alongside the dust and travelers dressed in fine costume stood outside eye-pleasing buildings stylized with architecture resembling the ancient Greeks.

Rachel recalled the dimly lit adobe structures and wooden trappings that made up the establishments in McKinley. She was amazed that people here could afford such splendor.

...

The cattle were directed onto planks leading into empty boxcars that would take them west on the new rail system. Men in soldier fatigues were unloading enormous wicker baskets from one car as others carried large cloths resembling tents.

While Rachel imagined the possible uses of baskets in warfare, a light skirmish began in the adjacent rail yard, ending with a young man getting shoved her way.

He brushed off the dust and swiped a worn confederate kepi hat from the ground before staggering over to the platform, sulking to the receding shouts of "_good-for-nothin-son-of-a-bitch_". Rachel noticed blood coursing down his cheek and quietly offered her bandana. He looked up at her under a short frock of curly black hair. His eyes reminded her of Quinn's.

"Thanks, Miss.." he said softly.

"Rachel Berry," she answered, sitting next to him as he cleaned his cheek and pressed on the cut. Quinn and Santana were herding the last of the cattle onboard and looked at them. She waved them off with a reassuring smile.

"At least you have friends.." he muttered. He twitched his lip, "Sorry about bumping into you."

"It's alright. There was more of them than there was of you, and all you had were your fists."

He chuckled sadly, "I wish I had more." He looked down at the hat in his hands. _Warbler Rail Workers Union_ was stitched on the side.

"Nice hat," Rachel motioned.

"It was my father's," he smiled through sad eyes. "He died in the war. He was always tellin' me to make somethin' of myself. I was 8 when I came home and a stranger gave me this hat. As if this was supposed to take the place of a father."

Rachel was silent for a while before facing him. "I know how it feels."

His eyes looked up at her. Clearer. He gazed out at the station. "Them Warblers won't let me do anything."

She shrugged, "Then find someplace where they will."

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"McKinley."

"Sounds like a nice town," he said wistfully.

She saw Quinn in the distance in front of an office looking at her. She smiled at him, "I have to go. It was nice to meet you.."

"Blaine Anderson," he smiled back, covering the curls with his hat.

...

Inside the office, a woman was arguing with the cattle trader, the wrinkles tightly creasing on a forehead framed by short blonde hair as she finished with a bluntness that stabbed her words with finality. But Quinn was used to the sting of bluntness and didn't flinch when the woman's glare scrutinized them on her way out.

They received a modest sum for their stock and continued to a homestead by the riverbank to see about buying a herd to keep Hummel's business alive.

"Still more than I had in my pocket," she said to Santana, as they counted their pay.

Santana smirked, "Looks like we've earned ourselves some due relaxation."

...

The saloon had a low ceiling, dim – save for a stage that attracted the light, and was full of a varied crowd, but they were able to secure a table where Santana and Puck joined in on a game of cards. Quinn smiled as Rachel grimaced after each whiskey shot, but would set the glass down with resolve and a challenging grin to the others.

After the saloon dancers performed a travelling musician was introduced, offering to accompany anybody willing to sing. Rachel soon became a candidate after those around their table overheard the encouragements of her company. She looked to Quinn amidst strangers chanting her name and Quinn nodded.

"But I've never sang in front of this many people before," she called out.

"You've never been outside of McKinley before either," the blonde mouthed back with a smile.

Rachel eyes twinkled and she let herself be ushered to the stage. They were already cheering for her and she hadn't even said a word. Maybe if she had just even one person who believed in her, it was enough for everyone else to believe in her as well.

She saw Quinn looking at her quietly, just like the first time she sang onstage at McKinley. No, she thought. Even if nobody else believed in her it would be okay, because the one person who had always understood the song she sang without so much as a word — just a look in their eyes that _knew_ without even knowing her, made her feel big enough to defy the limits of circumstance.

And so she sang. And my God did Rachel Berry sing.

...

"Drinks on me for this yodeling sonofabitch!" hooted Santana as they welcomed her back with cheers, the audience still applauding before the next act could ascend. Rachel laughed. It was the closest thing to a compliment she'd get from Santana.

"You doing anything later, young lady?" A woman in a tight corset asked. Rachel wondered if this was in any way sexual.

"This is Madame July, Rachel," Brittany introduced. "I used to dance for her back in the day."

Rachel wondered if that too was in any way sexual. The woman was holding what looked like a whipping stick. "Um—hello, Ma'am."

"Please. Call me Cassie," the woman smiled. "There's a show tonight at the Mayor's home for Founding Day needin' a singer, and my you've got some pipes. How about it?"

Rachel's face lit up and she looked at Quinn before replying, "I… I'll think about it."

"Dress rehearsal at the Mayor's in an hour. We go on at 10. We'll provide the dress," she said before sauntering away.

...

Quinn looked on proudly, but a hand on her shoulder broke her moment of appreciation. She turned.

"Quinn-freakin-Fabray!" slurred a lanky man with a cruddy unshaven face that stank of alcohol.

"Grimes." She instinctively scanned the room before checking back on the others taking shots in the crowd.

"Thought you got killed in that town just like poor old John. But you was always a tough bitch, huh?"

She gave a tight-lipped smile at the memory of beating off any of the boys that'd try to take advantage of her because she was a "..and a pretty little thing—" Grimes lifted a hand. Quinn slapped it away and opened her holster.

"Quinnie…" he whimpered foolishly. She hated that nickname.

"You with anyone?" she glared.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, "I thought we was family. You never leave family."

"Is the gang—_still_—together, Grimes?" she strained.

His stare turned crazed and he sneered quietly, "You're in 'til your dead, Quinnie. You know that."

His grip had tightened and his palms were sliding towards her chest. She shoved him off.

He reached for his gun but Quinn was faster. She grabbed a liquor bottle and smashed it on his head, keeling him over. A surge swept through her as memories reenacted themselves in her head. Bullets shot without hesitation through captives' pleading eyes as a younger John James claps his hands with a devilish grin. Hazel eyes empty behind the trigger. _It's because they were innocent_, he says.

A bullet is too easy for an outlaw. Instant. Passionless. So she grabs his head and shoves his face into the upturned edges of the broken bottle with a crunching gush. The floor stains with wine, the labeled shards read "gin". More memories. Dead men lying prostrate amongst tumbleweed soaked in red as another falls to the sound of an exploding chamber. Santana looking at her gratefully from the ground, then in disturbed awe as she hears the words "_run_" and a fleeing cowboy slumps off his horse to the final bullet 8 seconds later.

A brawl breaks out as Santana pulls her off, fists flinging, chairs crashing, sides of the fight indiscernible.

She sees Rachel staring at her in petrification and she wipes off the deranged look in her eyes.

Shots fire, every other noise stops. A redheaded woman with a revolver stoops to Grimes' body and shakes her head at the two men in dusters next to her. The saloon begins to empty at the sight of steel. They see Quinn.

The older man leans on a table and cracks his knuckles, casually peering at her from under his hat. The younger steps forward.

"We don't do well with traitoring bitches," he spits. "Looks like we gon' have to kill you now, Quinnie."

Immediately the others step beside her, aiming their pistols at the trio as the redhead aims hers back. Unfazed knuckles continue to crack. The young man's eyes ablaze.

"We draw, Fabray."

She looked at Santana, disheveled from the fight. Brittany bravely holding her revolver while her other arm hung in a sling. The white in Puck's eyes knowing there was no one in town half his blood. And Rachel, the twinkle in her eyes fading. She stepped forward as the area cleared.

Rachel grabs her hand. She knew how these things ended. She finally asked Puck about that day and how James challenged the sheriff to a draw. Funny how she lived her younger years believing her father was the hero of their little world and it only took an instant to realize he was human and that the world was so big. She pleads, "Quinn. Please don't."

But Quinn knew this was how matters were settled. She gives Rachel an apologetic look and strides over to face the challenge.

Rachel can't watch. She runs outside, her eyes flooding even before she realizes why she cares so much.

A shot rings out and she hugs her shoulders as she sits on the porch alone, smelling a miasma of cigar ashes and dust. She was in love with a fleeting instant.

A hand gently holds her shoulder. She knew that touch ever since the day at the shooting range. Her face grimaces in relief because she wants it to be real.

"Did you have a strong stance?" her voice breaks.

"Yes." But this time the voice was raspy and haggard. Broken strings.

She squeezes the hand on her shoulder and walks back inside, still numb.

...

Santana joined her out on the porch. "Lost 'em in the rabble."

Brittany leaned against a wooden post with a faraway look, "I tried to shoot the redhead but forgot to load bullets…" They gazed up at her. "Sorry. Won't happen again."

_The gang still runs_, Quinn thought. She missed running. _But who was leading them?_

"You that ridiculous excuse for a gunslinger who blew that kid's balls like sizzling breakfast sausages?"

It was the woman from the cattle trader's office, this time flanked by a miniature version of herself in a haughty pose. Quinn stood, flanked by Santana.

"You ruined my dinner," she continued, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, we're sorry?" Santana scowled.

"Save the bullshit, Breasts. Your chest is blocking my line of sight, I came to talk to Blondie there."

Quinn pulled a fuming Santana back. "What's your business?"

"What's your name?"

"Quinn Fabray."

"Well, Quinn Fabray, I need minions. There's no market for beef in the south, as you can tell by the poor selling of your precious stock that probably left your pockets emptier than the jar of sex I've been having. I need my cattle driven to the railroad in Missouri to offer up for slaughter north."

"Why me?"

"You remind me of a young Sue Sylvester, back when my female organs were still functioning and I had the ruthlessness to lead a team of champions across the barren desert."

"Mother, I thought I was the younger version of you," said the haughty blonde.

"Kitty, stop putting your two fingers into everything, it's insane," she scolded before turning to Quinn. "If you choose to accept this mission, meet at the station to get my beef. You can bring your team of breasts, if they don't smell of mediocre."

...

The redhead and the man accompanying her seemed an unlikely duo at the rail yard that hour, so he followed them. They missed him in the shadows while scanning the area before entering the _South Pacific Railroad Co. _office through the back door.

Wondering if this was another motion against the union's requests for higher pay, he fitted his kepi hat before scaling the side and entering a hidden breach through the rafters where he would occasionally spy for the Warblers.

A map was spread out on the desk with two men boring over it as the others walked in.

"Quinn Fabray is alive," the redhead announced. The older man leaned against the wall, cracking his knuckles.

The one with wavy brown hair faced them. "You didn't finish her?"

"She got Grimes and Billy, then the Mayor's men arrived."

He skewed his lips and strode towards her. His eyes then flashed a burning glare as he swiped the gun from her holster and flipped it at her head.

"What's the most important thing to you?"

She swallowed, "Family, boss."

He grinned and threw the gun against the wall. "Then you shoot the fucking brains out of anyone who tries to hurt it."

"That's enough," boomed the gentleman from the seat behind the desk, his fingers steadily tapping a 1-2-3. "I need that town of McKinley taken off the map so I can expand this railroad northeast to Missouri. That there is prime land for track laying but their mayor has rejected every peaceful negotiation to move. The _Santa Fe Rail Co. _is already hoarding my profits. I have no choice. Wipe them out if you have to."

"McKinley," the young man snorted.

"That's why I chose you. I know very well of your history with it."

The cracking of knuckles stopped. A deep voice informed, "Fabray was with McKinley cattle drivers at the saloon. The tiny one will be singing at the Mayor's tonight."

"Oh? Annie, get your gun. Tonight we catch up on some entertainment."

His eyes continued to burn as he looked up and shook hands with the gentleman. "They killed my father. I will kill every single one of them."

...

They were driving Sylvester's cattle into the homestead with the other stock when a young man ran towards them.

"Are you… Quinn… Fabray?" he gasped.

"Yes. You're the rail worker at the station with Rachel earlier." She climbed off her saddle.

"Rachel Berry from McKinley, right?" his face serious. She nodded and he continued, "Blaine Anderson. I overheard one of the railroad owners making a deal with some gunslingers. Somethin' about taking McKinley. There was… 3 of them— one guy in charge, a tall one cracking knuckles, and—"

"A redheaded woman?" Santana finished.

"Yes! They're out to get you," he directed at Quinn. "They're hopin' to find you at the Mayor's show because Rachel's singing."

Quinn's face overcame with worry.

"We have to get to Miss Berry," Puck turned to her. "She's already at the rehearsal."

...

Practicing her solo at the back of the room, she hears a familiar voice. She walks to the door where a guard is pushing an intruder out.

"Only performers are allowed inside, Miss!"

"I just need to talk to someone!" It was Quinn.

She makes her way closer when Cassie July steps in. "What can we do for you?"

Quinn sees her behind Cassie and takes a breath. "I just needed… Rachel," she says quietly. She meets Rachel's gaze and Rachel smiles softly.

"I'm sorry but you'll have to wait 'til after the show. She's our star."

The door slams in her face.

...

They paced in the shadows of the lawn outside the magnificent home built in the territorial style of adobe with Victorian details and a plastered exterior.

"We have to get outta this town with the cattle and get back to McKinley before your old pals do, Q."

"Rachel's still inside," Blaine reasoned.

"Yeah, pretty boy, we _know_," Puck huffed.

Quinn finally spoke up, "We start driving the cattle tonight. In the meantime, the others keep a lookout for the gang and keep them distracted. We also need someone who can pass as one of the dancers to get in and get Rachel out without calling attention to the show."

"So who's going in? I obviously won't pass for a saloon girl," Puck commented.

"Britt could get in easy, but she can't move right now with that arm unless there's a cripple dance," Santana noted. "What about you, pretty boy? You're dandy enough."

"Blaine knows the back roads by the rail yard that lead to the mountains north for cover. He needs to go with Puck. We meet up there," Quinn explained.

"And Quinn can't 'cause they're after her. She needs to draw away the bad people," Brittany added.

They all looked at Santana.

...

She was figuring out how to put on the ridiculous balloon of a costume when she heard a pounding on the door to her small dressing quarters. She wrapped the corset piece around her chest and reached for the knob.

The door flung open and a blur of sheets plowed through, inside them Santana, eyes widening in horror as she threw herself off Rachel and into a pile on the floor.

"Holy shit, Berry, cover your breasts like _right now_!" she yelled in agony, hand sprawled over her eyes, the other clutching the cloth clad over her body, inching away and praying for Quinn's mercy as Rachel pulled up the corset.

"What in Barbra are you doing here, Santana? And why are you wearing a curtain?"

"It's a _dress_, Berry—who the hell is Barbra?"

"I don't know. First thing that came to mind—whatever. What—"

"Look. Alright, maybe we did get Puck to tear a curtain down somewhere to make me look presentable, but this is serious!"

"It must be if you're in a dress.."

"Shut it, Berry. I'm here to save your ass. Shit has gone down."

...

The two secured the chuckwagon and saddled the horses quietly.

Puck looked over at Blaine leading out the _remuda_. "Thanks for helping us out. You're a good guy."

He smiled under the kepi hat, "It's no problem. Rachel reminded me there are bigger things out there."

Puck snorted with a smile. "Just… don't try anything with her. She's Quinn's, alright?"

"Ohh…" Blaine opened his mouth in a silly smile. He chuckled.

"What?"

"I'm cool with that. I'm into men."

Puck looked up and quipped, "Don't try anything with me then."

Blaine laughed, "I'd be too scared."

The cattle were herded out by the riverbank while the soldiers with wicker baskets and tents in the distance busied on what looked like explosives.

...

"What in dear chickens is _that_?"

She gazed out to where Madame July was pointing to see Santana struggling behind the stage in a tight-fitting dress, petticoat in haul, as she made her way over in waddling motions of heeled boots. She grimaced as the Latina tripped over another dancer and began swearing in Spanish, her face emanating with enough powder to cause Christmas snow.

"I wish I could explain but there are no words."

"Oh for the love of Bethlehem— positions, ladies! We're on in 10!"

She walked over to calm the Latina who was now kicking said dancer.

"So sorry about my—"

"This woman has no talent!"

"_Please_, bitch, I'm fabulous."

"Santana!"

She dragged her to the wings.

"We're not supposed to be drawing attention!"

"You put too much powder on me, I feel like a freaking fruitcake princess!"

"But you look so pretty. I told you dresses were pretty."

"I'm this close from throwing sticks at you, Berry."

"It'll have to wait, we're on! Please just pretend you know the dance, San."

"As long as you pretend to not be your stubborn ass self when Q gives me the signal to haul your ass out."

"Alright."

"Here," Santana reached under her petticoat.

"Uhh.. we're supposed to keep our panties on, San."

Santana pulled out two revolvers and hands her one. "Just in case."

She fell silent and smiled, "Thank you—for doing this."

Santana snorted, "Don't start being all nice to me now, Berry. You ready?"

She nodded, "Let's kick some ass!"

They tapped guns before stashing them away as the band began the prelude.

...

They survey the audience from the columns surrounding the outdoor patio in the center of the Mayor's home. No sign of familiar faces.

The band plays and the makeshift wings of the stage ruffle as slender figurines encased in swirls of cotton caper into formation. They spot Santana, holding her own on the dance floor.

"I didn't know Lopez was so… flexible."

"Oh, we work on it every night. She makes these noises though when we stretch her too far—"

"I did not need to know that, Britt."

"Sorry. …Look, it's Rachel!"

The backdrop opened and there she was, flowing in a red Victorian ball gown. Quinn thought she was so terribly good-looking. Transformed into something as magical as the most exquisite rose, with such poise and fragility. She couldn't see anything else.

...

"Quinn! It's the redhead!"

Sifting through the assembly's ovation were the two outlaws. She followed their gaze towards the stage where the performers were clamoring off to dance. People partnered as the band started a waltz.

She saw Rachel attached to a man's shoulder and something in her chest ached. But when Rachel turned it completely constricted, releasing a strangled gasp from her throat, because of a memory.

Blue eyes that she knew could burn red. Wavy brown hair. The same devilish grin that belonged to his father.

"We have to get her out of there _now_!"

Brittany nodded and stole into the crowd. She met Santana's eyes and gave the signal. Santana sashayed towards Rachel.

...

"You have a lovely voice. Very passionate." His tone smooth, like his motions.

She blushed, "Thank you."

"Singing must be very important to you," he continued, his gaze boring into her.

"It was something I used to do with my father," she answered quietly.

"Where is he now?"

"He… died. He was shot."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Why was he shot?"

"…He was protecting the town from outlaws."

The man paused and looked into her eyes as she finished, "He was the sheriff."

"Berry," he breathed, his eyes distant.

"Yes. How did you—"

"They announced your name on stage," he composed, flashing a grin. "Would you like a drink?" His grip tightened around her waist. She quivered.

A flurry of black hair whipped beside them, "Miss Berry! Madame needs you backstage this instant!"

_Santana_. "Oh, um—sir, I'm deeply sorry…" she curtsied in relief.

...

Quinn watched as the man spoke with his companions, their eyes trained to the side of the stage where the two girls fled. They needed a distraction.

She stepped out in the light.

"Quinn Fabray."

"Jesse James."

"_St._ James," he corrected. "I run this outfit now and thought I'd change some things."

She stood at ready and noted the girls escaping into the mezzanine of the home. "You didn't like the way old John ran the gang?"

Jesse snorted, "I'm _saving_ the gang, Quinnie. Dad didn't have it in him to finish what he started."

"That doesn't make you a saint."

He frowned, "You know what? You don't get to talk anymore."

Quinn caught the slight movement from his shoulder and leapt into the crowd before he could get off a shot.

He growled and turned to his men. "_Find_ _them_."

...

She saw her against the wall of the mezzanine. She was just standing there, looking at her, with all her little things. Like how her top lip moves before the bottom to reveal all of her teeth when she smiled. And how her smile was like a curtain, starting with a crease on the left cheek and sweeping open to reveal the light that held Quinn's world together.

"You were supposed to go with Santana."

"I told her you'd take care of me. That we'd go together, or not at all."

And it was looking at Rachel from a distance that Quinn finally realized that she would do anything to save her. Not because Rachel decided to put her life in her hands, but because Rachel had been saving _her_ from having to run alone all this time.

She took the step up. Closer, until they stood in front of each other.

She took Rachel's hands.

"I wished you were the one dancing with me," Rachel whispered.

"You looked busy.." she mumbled.

"You saw?"

Quinn nodded. "I've always been looking at you."

Her cheeks turned rose and she looked away. Embarrassed for wearing such a flamboyant dress. But somehow Quinn noticed because she heard the words, "You're beautiful… If nobody ever told you."

There was a look on Quinn's face that Rachel had only seen glimpses of, that would quickly fade the closer she got. And this time, it was Quinn stepping closer.

Their lips met, Quinn's grazing hers lightly, hesitant, until she shuddered out a breath. And when Quinn held her cheek with one hand, sliding the other down her waist, she forgot how to breathe completely, living only on the warmth that filled her mouth as Quinn's lips pressed down fully on hers.

Quinn's breaths against hers as their faces lingered against one another in the wake of the moment. Her hands holding onto shoulders that fit their creases.

"You're beautiful, Rachel," Quinn told her again.

And there, standing in each other's arms as they kissed against the wall of the mezzanine, she believed it. She had become beautiful without even knowing it.

...

It was the echo of a shot that allowed them to gasp for air. The world outside theirs scattering, an ensemble of shouts and screams. She saw the familiar faces of her past, approaching.

"Which way do we go?" Rachel asked her, still breathless.

She looked out the window, noting a plot of shrubs lining the wall. She climbed the ledge and turned to Rachel. "Take my hand."

Rachel knew about the fall, but maybe it was what she was waiting for her whole life. She slid her hand into Quinn's and took the step up.


	10. A Taste of Dawn

**A/N:** Hello! How are you? It's been a while, I know. =\ In my attempt to reconcile writing with real life, I started working on an idea I've had for a while to get my creative juices flowing, which helped me get back into **TPS**. As a little gift and my apology to you, I've uploaded the other project entitled **Repetitions** (Sci-fi/Future AU) along with this update for your literary consumption. I hope you enjoy! =)

* * *

**Chapter 9 - A Taste of Dawn**

...

It felt like floating, the fall. It seemed to envelop her senses in a limbo of numbness that the air she had funneled through was but a minor pass. The only thing she could remember - the one thing she had felt - was the lift of hands that took her up a step higher from the dark plastered halls of the mezzanine. It was like floating because it didn't hurt when they landed.

The same hands helped her up again from the ground. She smoothed down her dress and glanced back at the shrubs before looking up at the blonde who was scanning the perimeter and rubbing her shoulder. She looked back at the shrubs - completely still, and wondered who had truly broken their descent.

"This way," she heard, before the crescendo of the escaping crowd marked with staccatos of shouts and gunfire started to fill the street.

And so they ran around the side of the manor into the night. She didn't know where they were running, only that Quinn was holding her hand as allowed herself to follow.

...

Across the manor's entrance, they hid behind a darkened corner, waiting as the rest of the guests filtered out. She heaved a sigh as soldiers on horseback arrived to corral the disorder.

"Q was supposed to meet us here! Dammit, where are they.."

The blonde lifted her free arm to the other girl's shoulder. "They probably just had to go another way. They'll be okay, San."

"…I shouldn't have let Berry stay."

"Rachel's come a long way. You don't give her enough credit." The latina looked at her while loading the revolver's cylinder. She continued with a small smile, "And besides… Quinn always finds Rachel."

Santana focused on clear blue eyes. "I hope you're right."

A small blast blew a crack through the side of the dried adobe wall above them. She stole a glance around the corner at the sight of the redhead walking steadily towards them, the barrel of a carbine facing their way and exuding smoke, before darting back in time as another shot scarred their barrier.

"Fuck."

"Let's get out of here, San. We can meet them in the mountains."

"Sorry, Britt, but this redhead is really starting to piss me off." She locked the cylinder in place.

...

The herd was still under the cover of nightfall, as if everything was at peace. But he knew there were things at stake, as did his horse. It stirred, knowing that the earth could tremble at any minute. Ominous as it were, he welcomed it because it kept him awake and alert. They had been waiting a while.

He looked over at the man brooding over the hill, a mohawk growing wild, though one would never know except for the fact that it had been kept in line earlier in the day. He knew about hair. He noticed those things. He didn't know the man's thoughts, however.

He reigned his horse up quietly. "They're taking too long."

"You're impatient."

He gazed out at the town lights. He knew this town. But he also knew it wasn't his. There were people there that didn't want others to belong because they wanted it to be theirs too much.

"Look. I know you trust that they can take care of themselves."

Dark eyes turned towards him. "They can."

He shook his head. "But I saw those men when they were makin' their dealings. They have friends in high places in these parts."

"Speak plainly."

"There's a chance that your friends are in trouble. I'm going back to find them."

Puck spun around. "What?"

"I know my way out, remember? Besides, you're the one who's better at this cowboy business." The boy fitted his hat and rode off.

As Puck trailed his sight from the rider towards the town, an explosion lit the sky like thunder and lightning out of nothing, the dying flames falling to the ground. Too far to alarm the sleeping herd. Still. _Damn kid might be right after all._

...

She was on the run for the first time in her life and she felt alive. She was beginning to understand why people run - it was like having wings. And Quinn knew how to use hers because she was fast. She led them through back streets and alleyways as if from memory.

"Have you been here before? El Paso?" she gasped as she ran.

"No." Quinn paused and looked at her. "We were supposed to meet Santana and Brittany. They know the way."

Rachel's eyes widened. Quinn cradled her hand.

"We need to get to the edge of town where the herd was. Soldiers were setting camp and making fires. If we can find where that light is, we can head towards it."

Rachel glanced around but every way was dark except for a busy street outside the alley. She turned back to her trailboss who was looking at the overhang of a saloon porch on the street, and she knew.

"Ever climbed a roof before?" Quinn smiled lightly.

"Hahhh… NO."

"Rachel, we need get off the ground to find out which way the fires are." The brunette gave her a look. She extended her hand. "I'll help you up. C'mon."

Rachel placed hers on her hips. "You think this is funny?"

"No." Quinn looked at her dress then smirked. "Well… A little."

She couldn't help but smirk back. The bottom ruffles of her dress were already ruined - _she_ was already ruined. It was Quinn's smirk and Quinn's hand that was still in front of her, waiting to be held, and the fact that she had already been running. Perfect dresses are for porcelain dolls, but dolls were not alive. She was. Perhaps she wanted to be ruined.

She reached for the hand. "Let's climb it."

...

They sifted through pedestrians and lamplight towards the porch. Suddenly, gunshots rang out and dust flew, mixing with people diving for cover.

As they scrambled for the side of the saloon, Quinn caught several faces meeting her gaze. They were unfamiliar, but had steel and were bent on firing in her direction. Reaching the part of the overhang that was sheltered from view of the street, she wasted no time in lunging up and clamoring on before turning to help Rachel.

"Sorry we don't have time to teach you the basics of climbing…"

"It's okay," the brunette grunted as she clung onto the edge and swung herself on at her companion's push.

Quinn followed and hurtled herself over the roof as the zing of a bullet broke the air behind her.

"Yeah, looks like my old buddy Jesse got himself some new recruits." She peered over and saw the men attempting to follow on the overhang. "Shit. We have to go."

And so they ran - _flew_, rather. Quinn's hands were smooth, their turns sharp as bullets raced after them. It was dangerous, this flying. Everything she wanted right then seemed wrong. But she knew one thing that felt right - that even if she couldn't see the way, she would follow those hands. She had been walking around looking for them before she realized it was how she had wanted to be cut - as precise, as gentle - to be pasted onto Quinn's hands, as that gun she always carried.

"Quinn."

She pulled them behind a sloped roof and turned towards her name.

"What?" They caught their breaths.

"I think we lost them."

"Yeah?" She looked around the corner. Clear skies; she could see the stars. She turned back with a smile, "Looks like i—"

A pair of lips caught hers mid-sentence. Her breath hitched. Few things caught her by surprise, but this one did and she moved away slightly, her hand grasping the one holding her cheek. The brown eyes were prettier than the stars. They smiled at her.

"You were saying?" Now she was giving her that secret smile from the mezzanine. She wondered if it was the cause of why her heart was beating like this. She drew them closer again.

"I, uhh…" How to explain something you never felt before? She interlaced their fingers, looking for answers between their spaces.

They just _fit_. Everything. _Fits_. Like when she picked up one of them revolvers on the dusty old ranch where the greenhorns trained, not sure what she was looking for really. So she carried it around for a while trying to figure it out, until she learned how to hold it properly - and when she did she realized it was just the right weight and size for her grasp. Soon it turned into her most prized possession, attaining that special place at her side in the nicest holster she could find for it, even though she never thought she'd ever be one to use a gun because she used to associate it with her old man. But she kept it at her side because it became a source of comfort. It felt…

"…Safe," she whispered.

"Huh?"

She shook her head in composure, and a conclusion lit her face as she looked back. "You're… safe."

The girl looked at her and slowly grinned. "And you're darn crazy."

She gaped back, still trying to form words and regain her focus on the situation. Rachel chuckled and fiddled with their clasped hands. "Which way to the soldiers' camp?"

She gazed back into the brown depths she wished were the night sky so she'd just look there for answers instead of having to look away, but a burst of light in the air answered their questions. They turned towards what sounded like the deep popping of corn in the distance to see sparks of shooting stars brighten the night. Rachel gasped.

They were _real_.

"Fireworks…" she whispered in awe.

"Explosives!" Quinn ascertained, turning to her. "That's what the soldiers were setting up with all the powder earlier."

They had found their way. She nodded in understanding, but looked once more to the dazzling view and remembered the book Mike had lent her. He was right. They were beautiful. She thought she'd never get to see them, but there they were, almost as if dancing in the sky for her to convince her of her decisions to brave her fears.

"C'mon Rachel!" a voice called out ahead of her. That ever-present voice in her head that had been guiding her to the light, whether the owner was aware of it herself or not - and whose voice was gradually finding its way down from her head to a place in her chest. And this time she followed with vigor, because even if they were on the rooftops - which was quite a dangerous activity at that hour and in those dainty boots and dress - she knew where she was running this time, and she knew why.

...

She could see the campfires, the soldiers manning different heaps of pyrotechnical materials, and the general cheer occurring outside of the sphere of their current situation. But there was no herd at the ranch.

"It means the boys were able to get to the mountains with no trouble," Quinn reassured, noting her line of sight.

"What about Santana and Brittany?" she remembered. "We were supposed to meet them outside the Mayor's…"

Quinn scanned the entire strip of land that led into the mountains in the distance. Nothing irregular about the commotion. "They would've figured we had to go another way and probably went ahead to the meeting point," she posited. "Either way, it's up to us to get to the mountains now to be sure."

She looked down the quiet street they descended on from the roofs and out to the crowd by the river edge. "You think it's safe for us to just walk on out? There are soldiers - the outlaws wouldn't dare to, would they?"

"You don't know them, Rach," muttered the blonde. "They don't know what it means to quit. And they'll do it quietly through this camp if they have to."

"So we'll never be rid of them," she concluded, staring at the hazel eyes.

"Unless they're dead."

"Or unless we're dead, you mean," she blurted. The thrill of the rooftop escapade had settled down. It was being replaced with the cold feeling of dread. She began to doubt. She wondered if it had been better to stay at home and not have gone on this adventure in a foolish attempt for self-growth.

Quinn saw the creases of the brunette's face begin to wrinkle. "Hey," she called out.

The brown eyes looked up. "What."

"We'll be alright. I can handle them. I'll figure it out," she promised.

"You don't have to do it alone, Quinn," said the tiny voice, trying to match the conviction in her tone.

She chuckled. "Let's just get you out of here first, alright?" She made a motion towards the shadows of the establishments lining the river edge, but a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Promise you won't try to go off on your own," said the same voice, a little louder.

She still hadn't figured out how to deal with Rachel's feistiness. She knew she wanted to do things for her. Perhaps anything. She now wanted to be anything Rachel needed her to be, but most of all she wanted to keep the girl safe. That's what she said earlier, didn't she? She wondered how she would balance it in the end, but they couldn't stay there all night to come to a conclusion.

"Promise," she half-smiled.

Rachel looked to the shadows, appeased. "Alright. Let's go."

...

The two made their way in the darkness opposite the spots of light where flames whipped about in the camps, their shadows moving in rhythm along the walls of trader shops and rail yard buildings. Rockets of neon lights seared in random outbursts from the crowd as they traipsed along, distracting Rachel a few times. In the beginning, it was from the shock of the blasts atop the din of the camps' merriment. Soon it became a distraction of sight. She wanted to see them again.

Quinn noticed the distance between her and Rachel and turned to find the brunette looking to the sky. She smiled at the wonder in the girl's face, then began to frown as she realized their shadows were not aligned against the wall. Her shadow shouldn't be that close to Rachel. She looked to the wall beside her and saw another shadow - and when she jerked in slight alarm, it moved to mimic her.

She snapped her head back towards Rachel, now moving towards her, an unknown shadow trailing behind hers.

In a flash, she pushed her companion behind a pile of wood, and dove towards the outlined figure. She heard her name being yelled out in the scuffle as she brought her hands clamping down on what felt like a neck and rolled them into the moonlight.

A boy dressed in dirty flannel flailed under her grasp as he sailed punches near her face.

"How many of you are there?" she seethed as she took a hit. The boy just groaned and tried to reach for his holster.

She immediately kneed him in a fragile place, making him contract and allowing her to swipe his pistol. In one motion, she shoved off while bringing her arm down to strike him on the side of the head with the pistol grip. He didn't get up.

She rose gradually from her crouched position, her shoulder aching from the strength of her swipe. She staggered up to see the brunette pointing the barrel of a gun at the body on the ground.

"I almost fired, Quinn!" she gasped.

"Why didn't you?" she huffed, straightening her shirt. "It could've gotten them soldiers up and about."

"I didn't want to shoot you by accident…"

She draped an arm around the girl's stiffened frame. "It's alright. He'll be knocked out for a while."

Rachel began to relax as she sheathed her pistol. "This trip is becoming a bit more than I bargained for," she chuckled.

"And it's not going to let up anytime soon, I fear," the blonde uttered.

Rachel looked down the alley and saw them. It was literally a gang of men making their way to where they stood.

"Run."

She didn't need to hear any more.

...

They darted out into the encampments, apparently not providing a big enough distraction to the blasts of fireworks being set off.

She yelled as they ran. "Where are they all coming from? You said they were disbanded, Quinn!"

"I don't know!" came the reply.

"Well— they sure as heck— had a successful recruitment— while you were away!" she gasped. She couldn't keep running like this. Cooking and singing were not good enough conditioning for this sort of activity.

Thankfully, Quinn stopped and hid them behind a tent overlooking the river.

"Funny, Rachel."

"Glad you think so," she grinned. Though she wasn't actually quite that amused. They were taking too long. The others must surely be worrying by now. "We need a faster way out of here. Over the river?"

Quinn saw a mesh of color on the ground up ahead. Giant baskets. Burners. "I have an idea," she replied.

Rachel looked at the signs as they ran up to the crowd that was assembling around an inflating tent. _Want to fly? Try a balloon ride!_ She remembered the materials being unloaded from the train earlier in the day.

She looked to one that was about to be sent up with a few adventure-seeking citizens. The burner was lit and it began to rise. The basket lifted off the ground to cheers and the delighted faces of those onboard. She didn't believe that people would ever be able fly, but she was seeing them take off into the air before her eyes. It was glorious yet frightening.

_What if the burner set the balloon on fire? What if a bird hit the balloon? Can you control where to go? Surely, this wasn't Quinn's idea?_

She whirled around looking for the blonde in the multitude.

Quinn was bartering with the crew in charge of another balloon being inflated. At least one pilot to fly the contraption then a dollar per person. Each balloon had to be filled with four people. It was expensive - that's probably how much she made a day on this drive according to Santana. _But how often do you get to fly?_

She looked up at the sky at the balloon that had already gone first. Then the fireworks in the distance. _And how often do you get the thrill of trying to survive a flight through a field of explosives?_

She saw Rachel meeting her gaze as the brunette made her way through the rabble. _She's going to kill me._

She scanned back towards the encampment. She couldn't tell gang member from soldier from civilian apart any longer and felt a tinge of panic. _Still, better than them killing us._

She turned back towards the crew member in charge.

"What is this?" he gruffed, looking down at the crumpled bill in her hand.

"Five dollars," she offered. "For me and my companion."

He lifted a scraggy eyebrow at her, almost putting her eyebrow lift to shame. "You need two more people."

"Keep the rest for the unfilled spots. A dollar extra to set us down on the other side of the river," she pressed. He snorted.

"Please," she continued, catching herself by surprise. She'd never settled for pleading before. "It's all I have."

He scrutinized the unease in her eyes and snatched the bill. "Alright, alright. Hold yer hankies."

She breathed a sigh of relief and turned in time to catch Rachel in a hurry.

"Are you serious, Quinn Fabray?" It was a tad shrilly. She slid her hands down the tightened arms to calm them. Touching apparently worked. Rachel grumbled quietly as she stared in question.

"I've seen these before. It's our way over the river, Rachel. Trust me, please." _Dammit. Twice in the span of minutes._ Rachel's eyes softened. This girl was doing something to her. _Snap out of it, Fabray. You're no desperate fool._

She exhaled lightly and climbed up into the basket. The balloon was fully inflated and ready to go, the burner lightly on to allow a preliminary lift off the ground, and the pilot being given last instructions in a group of crewmen. She extended her arm towards the brunette. "Take my hand," she said.

This time there was less hesitation on Rachel's part. She'd been holding that hand most of the night. This would be no different. She grabbed it and was about to step up when a zing unhooked one of the ropes that latched the basket to the ground. The basket shivered and tilted to the attached sides, catching her off balance with a yelp. Quinn held onto their grasp and looked ahead.

There was movement amongst the crowd, heading towards them. They wouldn't shoot the balloon down for fear of explosion and attracting too much attention, but they _would_ shoot either girl if they got close enough. _Where is that damn pilot?_ The crew was looking about confused.

"Rachel! Come on!" she grunted as she pulled the two of them onboard. "Hang on!"

"Quinn, what are you doing?"

"Turn up the burner!" She took out her pistol and fired off another rope. They tilted up.

"Are you crazy?"

"We don't have time!" Another shot. Another rope.

The crew members began running around the rising balloon, yelling. The audience's attention shifted. Rachel panicked. Then she saw faces from the chase. It did not help the panic. She flung an arm out to a knob and turned it. The flame smoldered. The sound was deafening. She looked to Quinn.

"Trust me," repeated the blonde.

She nodded in reply, her eyes wide.

The last rope whipped off and she felt a sudden lift. She felt arms steadying her as they rose and swayed gently with the wind. She cast a gaze down at the receding ground. The little faces looked aghast.

...

"We're in big trouble, Fabray," she breathed, the cold air cooling her throat.

"We'll make a run when we set down." Her companion's breath breezed past her cheek and she realized Quinn had wrapped an arm around her waist and that she could feel her pressed against her back. She turned her head to the side, forehead pressed against a soft chin.

"I was right. You _are_ crazy…"

The chin shifted away and hazel eyes looked into hers, a half-pout on the lips before they moved. "That's the third time you've said that about me tonight, though I recall it was you who decided to stay behind and jump off buildings with me." A strong arm reached out to adjust the burner.

"Ha, think what you will, Fabray."

"…What happened to just 'Quinn'?" the lips smirked. Rachel remembered them over pork chops sizzling in a pan.

She rarely saw this playful, spontaneous - and crazy - version of the girl she'd come to know over the past few months. She cocked her head and wandered her eyes over the pretty face. Quinn smiled and continued to tweak the burner to catch the right flow of wind. No, there was still that reserved, stoic manner about her.

"Quinn is more… than 'just Quinn'," she fumbled. Hazel eyes looked up and she remembered the mountains and the specks of sunlight against a backdrop of night.

"And Rachel is more than just Rachel," came the quiet reply.

She glanced awkwardly at the floor, not knowing how to respond, her cheeks pink. A small laugh made her look up.

"Why aren't you looking out?"

She shook her head. Somehow the blonde read her mind.

"Don't worry. See my hands? I'll hold you," the girl smiled. Rachel swallowed. Quinn continued, "Look. It's your north star."

She finally dared herself to look out and face the edge of the basket. The last thing she recalled was her mouth falling open.

They weren't just tiny lights in the sky anymore. She didn't have to look up as much. She didn't have to feel like she was reaching for nothing. She was _flying_, and she was flying amongst them. She didn't feel alone, for they were all right there in front of her - almost within reach and illuminating them with an incredible brightness in the clear night, the peppered fireworks in the backdrop only adding to the splendor of the universe. She remembered the gold star her father always wore and when he would put her on his shoulders when she was little to reach the things she couldn't on her own. And she realized she had come all this way, went on this trip that she had no business being on, been through storms and stampedes and being chased by outlaws - yet still, she was alive. She was safe.

How?

Because of Quinn.

The girl had saved her every time. _Take my hand_. Helping her up so she wouldn't stumble. Onto ledges and balloons to safety. Onto carriages in the night. Even catching her when she slipped in the kitchen over elderberries. Then, the sweet smell of berries and pancakes. _I think your nose is nice_. Silly, but it stayed with her. She had never thought of herself as particularly attractive. _You look… nice - in them._ The smell of rain and Quinn's raincoat. And fish. Waiting for them. Listening and learning. How to survive in the wilderness. _You'll feel it if it's right_. Well, it did. She fluttered her eyes at the thought. Everything about Quinn felt right.

She whirled around and met the hazel eyes once more. She remembered what her father told her about angels. Something welled up inside her. He had never been wrong.

Quinn approached her. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. Then after a beat, "Can you do something for me?"

"What is it?"

"Kiss me."

The features of Quinn's face tightened, her eyes revering their view. "You don't have to ask," she said softly.

Rachel smiled lightly and moved closer until their hands met. One caressed her cheek as she looked on the lips that told her she was more than she thought she was. She glanced up, their eyes meeting. She could feel an arm wrap her waist gently, but firmly.

Feel.

She realized how colorful it sounded against the monochrome of the empty sheriff's desk. She couldn't even remember how those long-gone days felt. She just knew they happened.

But here. Now.

She could _see_ Quinn. She could feel her body pressed against hers. She could smell the leather of her belt and boots, the wind from the desert. She could hear their breaths mingling with the breeze. "Close your eyes," she heard.

And when she closed them, she felt hands caress her cheeks and move upward. They brushed her hair from the sides of her face. She felt lips brushing tenderly against her eyelid, then the other, trailing down towards the creases of her mouth. And when she regained glimpses of logic amidst the hold of their lips on each other, she knew what Quinn's mouth tasted like. Life and second chances.

...

When they finally pulled apart for air, Quinn gazed at the brown eyes. They still held the mysteries of the universe, but something had flickered within them.

She knew because she had seen Rachel Berry in the moonlight, and not even the darkness could keep away the impending dawn of a star that had finally decided to come alive. And she believed in the stars.

They had always guided her home.

She glimpsed across the river to the safety of the opposite banks. _Almost there._

She reached a hand out to ease the burner for their gradual descent, but a loud clap erupted in the vicinity of their sky, the blast reverberating against the smooth sailing of their basket.

They shook and began to lose altitude. Fast.


End file.
